


Hearts Like Ours

by EarthsickWithoutYou



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Adventure, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, F/M, Mystery, Romance, Space Dad Lorca
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-03-11 12:39:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 50,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13524459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarthsickWithoutYou/pseuds/EarthsickWithoutYou
Summary: When Prime Gabriel Lorca finds himself on the USS Discovery, he must prove to the crew that he is trustworthy, acclimate to being back in his own universe, solve a mystery which begins with Mirror Landry's ongoing scheme, and figure out why he feels so incredibly drawn to Specialist Michael Burnham.





	1. Prologue/Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In this story, Mirror Ellen Landry survived the battle in "What's Past is Prologue."

Prologue: All of this is tearing us apart

_Mirror Universe_

Commander Ellen Landry looked around the violently ruined remains of the Emperor’s throne room, nodding to the few loyal officers who remained until they fanned out around her in a protective configuration. Sighing, she paced around the throne, knowing perfectly well that disaster was imminent. The Emperor was gone and so was…her heart panicked and tried to push the next memory away, but her pride and intellect insisted that she face it. Her hands formed tight fists, nails sinking into flesh as she stared at the static-filled screens to her left. _He_ was gone. Their enemies had murdered Gabriel Lorca, and putting aside the brutal blow it dealt Landry’s heart, it was worse to consider that there was now no clear-cut heir to the throne. Chaos was about to explode all over this place, but running wasn’t Landry’s style…not unless there was something to run _to._

Anger hardened in her stomach, which turned violently as her mind began processing the actual fact that she’d never see Lorca again. Landry had lost her beloved leader and the last, great hope of the Empire, which had been weakened by Georgiou’s pathetic vacillations. There was no brave new world to help build as his trusted second in command — well, she’d planned to remain in that stead, surely, since a little accident was bound to befall his precious Michael Burnham if she had anything to do with it. 

There it was, her sense of purpose, like a column of fire raging back to life inside her, telling her what to do. Burnham’s self-righteous, prim features flickered across her brain and Landry’s face broke out into a grin born of pure hatred. She could never bring Lorca back, and there was probably nothing she could do to maintain her rank or even her life for much longer in this situation. But Landry was far from powerless.

She still had revenge at her fingertips, if she played this right. There was one last, precious drop of sweet satisfaction to be gained from her continued existence: that she could bring the most miserable and long-lasting torment imaginable upon the vile woman who had destroyed her world.

“Lieutenant,” Landry snapped to the nearest officer. A pathetic hanger-on at best, but he knew how to science his way out of problems, which she was going to need since Stamets was gone. “We have a new mission, and it’s going to get us out of here in one piece so that we can swing around and make a new play for the throne.” 

The Lieutenant had the audacity to raise his eyebrows in surprise at Landry’s lofty ambitions, and she made a mental note to kill the disrespectful young man at her next opportunity. For now, she put on a plastic smile and said, “Fix that,” nodding sharply at the monitors. “Scan every galaxy as far as the sensors reach, and you find me a damn ion storm as soon as possible. Don’t waste time, or I’ll waste you.”

Chapter 1: Like punching in a dream

“Sir, we’ve reached the Emperor’s flagship, but there’s something seriously wrong,” Vravi Sh’zorik announced. She spun back and forth in her seat, her blue antennae twitching nervously, and adjusted her somewhat ragged tunic. Like many among the ragtag crew of rebels aboard this small vessel called Pilgrim, the war against the Empire had left her with a number of recognizable tics.

Vravi’s words, spoken in that typically neurotic, shaky tone of hers, had knocked Captain Gabriel Lorca clean out of his deep thought tangent. In his head, he’d been back on the Buran, in his own universe, among his crew. It had been a long time since he’d been ripped from the Buran right in the middle of the war with the Klingons, yet Lorca still couldn’t make peace with the torturous mystery of not knowing what had happened to them in his absence. Now, he chastised himself for letting his mind wander to unknowable matters when other lives were at stake right in front of him.

Lorca had dubbed the beat-up relic _Pilgrim_ himself, about a year back now. By that time, he’d gotten his bearings, pieced together where he was and who these rebels were. He realized the importance of their cause, and that he could help them, lost as they were and as bereft of purpose as he found himself. Lorca had exhausted all theories as to how he might be able to return home, but hell if he was going to rest on his laurels while these good people, banded together despite countless cultural differences, fought this viciously racist Terran Empire.

They’d planned a cunning attack on the Emperor’s enormous ship, one that had them sneaking in undetected and retrieving secret intel to give them the edge in this war that was at least as heartbreaking and terrifying as the Klingon/Federation conflict back in his universe. 

“You wanna subtract about a hundred percent of the vagueness from that report, Vravi?” Lorca drawled, glancing at the screen that had the young rebel woman so surprised.  


“Well, damn,” he muttered, looking more closely.

“Exactly, sir,” she replied, running her finger almost frantically across the screen, flicking from report to report, unable to believe any of them. The number of lifesigns on the ship was down by 30%, with numerous serious damages dotted all over the vessel. Someone else had gotten here first, and the Pilgrim had arrived in the wake of that attack.

“Should we withdraw?” A pensive Vulcan voice put in. Helvitt’s brow furrowed, but if the mood of the rug being pulled out from under them which pervaded the bridge had reached him, he entirely concealed the emotion. 

“No,” Lorca said instinctively. “We don’t know if this might bring us an advantage we never expected. Maybe the chance to hit the Empire hard while they’re already wounded. Let’s continue with the basic structure of our plan. I’ll take an away team in there, and we’ll see what’s what.”

When Lorca’s team had used the undetectable energizing technology developed by the rebellion’s science division to beam aboard the flagship, they looked around aghast at blood-splattered walls, cracked computer screens and people running all over the place.  


The rebels stood still, Lorca’s eyes quickly tracking the runners to ascertain that these people were desperately trying to figure out where to go for safety and to whom they should pledge their allegiance. No one on this particular level of the ship was taking command of the situation; it was like beaming straight into a riot, which might be one of the easiest places to hide in plain sight.

“Okay then,” Lorca said drily, tucking his phaser back into his trousers. “Let’s go and find a safe place to hole up and hack the living daylights out of their information archives.”

“Sir, we’d better move fast,” Tsann Cimirgh suggested. The Klingon doctor had joined them for this mission in case they had injuries, since it seemed likely enough that they would. Her pale eyes glistened with worry for the wounded, wretched lot that surrounded them, people she didn’t have the time to help, which bothered her. Plus, she could see that it wouldn’t be long before these stragglers closed in to take whatever they could from the newcomers. Scavengers were the most dependable result of a riot.

They managed to find a narrow corridor near the shuttle bay that hadn’t been torn apart by the restless crew, and Vravi clicked the small, circular device that held her latest bit of hacking ingenuity into the phaser-charging panel on the wall. From there, its tentacles of spy technology would spread out into the ships’ computers, retrieving all the juicy details of the evil enemy that a bunch of rebels could hope for.

Vravi clapped her hands together excitedly, whispering, “I think it’s working!” Lorca was going to congratulate her when the ship lurched out of nowhere, bolting into warp speed.

“This is an unforeseen development,” Helvitt remarked tersely, his penchant for stating the obvious as repetitive as Vravi’s tendency to withhold frankness when it was needed and let it loose at the most inopportune junctures. But they were good people, brave and unrelenting in the kind of ethics that could easily get you killed. Lorca just wished their endearing quirks wouldn’t make him feel the occasional flash of attachment. He’d already lost one crew and wasn’t ready to fully commit to another. Here, he was a wanderer, helping out where he could, and that was it. No strings, no obligations, no Starfleet, no Captain.

The team looked around at each other as the ship came to a stop, only to shake violently, causing them to grip the walls for support, thankfully nestled rather snugly in the tight confines.

“By now, I should know better than to ask questions when these things happen,” Lorca yelled as the flagship continued to be batted around by some outside force. “But I still have to say, what the—”

Before he could draw another breath, Lorca was in a different place altogether, the final shimmers of a transporter beam roving over him. “Fuck?” He finished his sentence, looking around.

Lorca straightened his posture, noticing immediately that he was onboard a Federation starship — God, could he be back in his own universe? His little band of rebels were crouched on the floor. This was their first time being unceremoniously pulled from one universe and into another, and to make matters worse, someone on this ship had managed to transport them here in the middle of that already complicated transition. Lorca felt dizzy himself, but the other newcomers were a mess. Tsann was unconscious, probably from pure shock, while Helvett stood frozen in undisguised horror. That might normally have been hilarious, coming from a Vulcan, but there was no time for amusement. Vravi had landed at a particularly uncomfortable angle, the transporter depositing her roughly. She had flown forward and landed hard against a console. Her shoulder crunched painfully and she cried out, causing Lorca to step forward automatically. 

“Stop right there, please,” A male voice called in clipped tones. Lorca looked over at the man who had spoken. He was a Kelpien officer, apparently in charge, who looked none too pleased at Lorca’s presence aboard the bridge of the…

Lorca’s eyes swept the scene in blurry disbelief. He was a complete Federation geek and knew the schematics of all her best vessels. That’s how he knew that this was none other than the USS Discovery, though it didn’t tell Lorca why every member of her crew had him fixed with the evil eye.

Everyone except a dignified young woman who stood to the right of the Kelpien Captain. Her uniform bore no indication of rank, which was bizarre, since her position and bearing spoke of someone important. The Specialist’s soulful eyes fixed on Lorca with some strange mixture of distress, fear, and…compassion. He had never seen her before in his life, but there was an aura of mystery, intense brilliance, and grace about her which immediately fascinated him. Of course, it didn’t hurt that she was breathtakingly beautiful, with striking brown eyes in which it would be all too easy to get lost, but now he was letting his thoughts get away from him. Deciding to address this more sympathetic individual, Lorca took a moment to consider how exactly he should explain himself.

“Some time ago,” he began, “during a battle between my ship, the Buran, and the Klingons, an anomaly involving an ion storm caused me to be transported to what is known as a mirror universe,” Lorca explained slowly, holding his hands out to indicate he meant them no harm. “Ever since, I’ve been investigating ways to get back to my own universe, which from what I’m basically able to deduce from your ship and uniforms, this probably is. I don’t know how you people found me and got me aboard the Discovery, but I do know that someone with shifty intentions, someone within the Terran Empire’s highest ranks, found themselves an ion storm so that they could do on purpose what happened to me by crazy happenstance. These people with me, they are rebels, and they stand against the Terran Empire. You have nothing to fear from any of us. We just seek safe passage.”

“We _seek_ to get back to the war we were fighting,” Tsann muttered groggily as her eyes finally opened. “There are people in our universe right now who need us desperately.”

“Seconded,” Vravi added, holding her arm in place.

“None of you are going anywhere until we have more information. That is, you will be consigned to quarters under armed guard for the time being,” the Captain said, politely but coldly. All around them, the other crew members either flinched away from the sight of Lorca or looked ready to slug him in the face. _Why?_ He wondered, unused to being looked at as though he was a villain. What’s more, unbearably, Lorca had no choice but to simply wait around for the Discovery crew to reveal how they’d gotten ahold of him and his team in the first place — not to mention what had happened to whoever had initiated the journey to this universe back on the other side.

“This development was only to be expected,” Helvitt announced unhelpfully.

“Oh, will you please quit doing that already?” Lorca groused.

“Specialist Burnham, please accompany Security and see that our guests have everything they need,” the Captain ordered.

“Yes, Captain Saru,” Burnham replied, her voice warm and steady, almost enough to reassure Lorca that all would be well though it made no sense.

“Wait, wait,” Lorca interrupted, “That’s all fine, but please, tell me what happened to my crew aboard the Buran. I have to know.”

He heard a few gasps and scoffs behind him and Saru shook his head. “This is neither the time nor the place for such explanations,” the Kelpien insisted. Two Security officers took hold of Lorca’s arms, having sensed that he might put up a fight, and he couldn’t help resisting a little despite their iron grip.

“Please tell me!” Lorca was shouting now, unable to hold back his frustrations. “They were my crew, I was responsible for their lives! I’ve gone more than a year not having a clue what happened to them.” He tried to pull himself free, but soon enough he was standing in the turbolift with his fellow rebels, a few more Security officers, and Specialist Burnham, who stood calmly in front. 

“Level 5, please,” she requested.

Before the doors closed on the overstuffed lift, Lorca yelled out one more time to the Captain. “Come on! You can’t be serious! God! Who the hell _are_ you people, anyway?”


	2. In rolling waves

Michael took one look at Sylvia Tilly’s sweet, concerned expression and instantly wished she hadn’t confided in her. 

“You’re kidding me! _You,_ after everything you just went through?” Tilly shook her head, her forkful of zucchini frozen in midair.

“What have I gone through that most other people on this ship haven’t also endured?” Michael answered smoothly.

“Do you want me to make a list? Look, telling—” Tilly made finger quotes before continuing — “‘Prime’ Lorca about what happened to the Buran is a heavy, awful duty. I’m just questioning if that’s something you want to plunge yourself into when you just got back from, well, basically, hell.”

Michael sighed. Hell wasn’t a place you could leave as simply as exiting an alternate universe. Plenty of frightening problems still plagued her right here, back at home. Like Ash Tyler, tormented by the presence of an invading consciousness, his own skin and self relegated to a costume for Voq while the woman who’d tortured him and masterminded the procedure was too nearby for comfort. Or Phillipa Georgiou, former Emperor and current prisoner, glaring at Michael with barely-contained fury every time she visited her. Phillipa resented Michael for taking her away from a death that would have saved her pride. But Michael hadn’t been able to stand losing her again, and now there was a price to pay for that personal weakness.

She just wanted to keep busy. Others were interrogating the Terran Empire officers who had used the ion storm to get to this universe. Among the imperial group was Ellen Landry, second-in-command to Mirror Lorca. Of course, when the Discovery had detected the travelers from the alternate universe in transit, they’d rushed to intercept them. Landry had smiled triumphantly when she’d arrived onboard, enthusing that by transporting herself and the others there, the crew had given her exactly what she wanted. It remained to be seen if what Landry truly wanted was to be locked up in a Federation prison, since that was all that awaited her. They might have to be creative about the chosen facility, since Starfleet had gone dark, relying on hidden bases and secret planning after losing the war to the Klingons. But Landry would be locked up for her misdeeds all the same.

“I need to be useful, Tilly, I _have_ to be,” Michael insisted. “Or I’ll lose myself. Telling Lorca, making sure he’s alright, that is a kindness. It’s a chance to do something good. That, in turn, will do me good in my current state of mind.”

“Does logic dictate that?” Tilly inquired, continually fascinated by the way Burnham integrated her Vulcan upbringing into her human personality.

“Perhaps this is an equally Vulcan and human decision,” she replied. Logic would certainly be behind the explanation she’d just given, but pure, emotional instinct compelled her to go to Lorca, to speak to him. Part of it was knowing that no one else on the crew would probably be able to break the news to him in quite the way she wanted to. It was unbearably delicate, and could not be dealt with by anyone too hampered by their issues with Mirror Lorca to summon the necessary tact.

“I see,” Tilly concluded thoughtfully. She sat back, chewing her lip, concerned again. “Just be careful that you’re not taking too much onto yourself. That’s a habit of yours, you know.”

 _A compulsion, in point of fact,_ Michael thought. “I’ll be careful,” she assured Tilly, wishing that she herself saw any end to the imposing troubles in her life.

“I know this Lorca _isn’t_ his mirror universe counterpart,” Sylvia clarified, “and frankly, I wish half of the crew would freaking get over themselves assuming that he must be evil, too. That said, seeing him sort of unavoidably gives me the heebie jeebies. I know I’ve got to rise above it, but God…remembering the way we all trusted that Lorca, and how he played us so easily? It’s painful.”

“Yes,” Michael said crisply, unable to convey similar feelings, and so choosing to communicate polite understanding of them. She recalled with chilling accuracy the misdeeds perpetrated by Mirror Lorca, but it didn’t make her shrink away from getting to know his doppelganger.

Actually, from the moment she’d seen this new Lorca, she had realized that he was nothing like the first. Every aspect of his manner spoke of integrity and honest confusion. The Mirror Lorca’s personality was shadowy, at best that of a man who’d seen too many dark days and was trying to claw his way back to decency; at worst, a man who would be happy only when he cast eternal darkness as far as the eye could see. This “Prime” Gabriel, however…his attitude was instinctively open and earnest, and his eyes shone with a light she personally found indisputable. She continued to internalize this strange mode of thinking, reflecting that at least it was a positive-leaning one, which made for a pleasant change.

Tilly was winding a long, curly strand of red hair around one finger, her blue eyes dreamy. “You know,” she confided, “There’s just one thing I miss about Evil Lorca, and that’s the way he looked in that black leather jacket. Know what I mean?”

“What?” Michael snorted as her drink spluttered slightly over her lips. She pressed them together sheepishly, then dabbed them with a napkin.

“Oh, please,” Tilly objected. “Like you really never noticed.”

“I most certainly did not,” Michael maintained, but she couldn’t help the tiny smile that threatened at the corners of her mouth. Tilly caught sight of the incremental surrender and laughed out loud, and soon they were both giggling, letting off some steam at last.

***********************************************************************  
“It’s Specialist Burnham,” Michael announced to Lorca’s door a little while later. She shifted nervously, intimidated by what she had to do.

“Come,” Lorca chirped easily, and she walked into the room to find him sitting up from a reclined position on the bed. Michael cleared her throat, averting her eyes and wishing the stars that confronted her from just outside the windows held some answers. 

“Sorry,” he went on, “where are my manners? I was just having a nap, but I promise, I’m awake now. Would you like something to drink?” Burnham shook her head, noting with amazement that his courteous manner had the effect of putting her at ease, at least as much as that was possible in this situation.

Mirror Lorca had been courteous as well, in his way, but it always smacked of ulterior motives. This was something different altogether. It was the underpinning of a man’s personality, a man of honor.

“Please, have a seat,” Lorca urged, pulling a stiff, silver chair out from the small table. She nodded, trying to focus on the words she’d planned to say and draw confidence from them.

“Captain Lorca,” Michael began, a small tremor in her voice. This was truly a horrible duty. He looked so innocent sitting there, as if he was merely happy to finally have a visitor and perhaps a well-deserved update about what the hell was actually going on. Lorca looked grateful, dammit, and it stung.

“Please, Michael, call me Gabriel,” he insisted warmly. 

“That would be inappropriate,” she reminded him, relying on her stern, by-the-letter attitude about regulations, one of her favorite and most dependably convincing defense mechanisms.

“Awesome,” Lorca chuckled, sitting down across from her, “That’s why I like doing it. I always call my crew by their first names and ask that they do the same with me. We may have a chain of command, but I believe that a crew, first and foremost, must also be friends in order to be truly strong and successful. But again, as I indicated, I like coloring outside the lines when it comes to certain strictures. Let the regulations breathe a little, you know?”

“Not really,” Michael replied slowly, as if addressing a wayward child. She humored him, however, given that there were far larger concerns at hand. “As I was saying, _Gabriel,_ ” — she had to force herself to say the word, and didn’t at all like how good it felt — “I’ve come here to provide you with some important information regarding your situation. I only wish I had more specific details, but I’ll be as thorough as possible. Rest assured that you’ve been thoroughly vetted by now, and after the inquiry we’ve conducted, you and your team are no longer on lockdown. You may all go where you please during your time here. Admiral Cornwell is en route to confer with acting Captain Saru about the situation with the Klingons, and you’re more than welcome to join in that meeting. Your insight will likely prove useful, both regarding that matter and what you saw of the other universe.”

“Indeed?” Lorca inquired, quirking an eyebrow.

“Yes, especially since we also intercepted the other voyagers to this universe from the Mirror realm — Commander Ellen Landry and several associates who came here with their own likely twisted agenda. They haven’t exactly been forthcoming, but their behavior since arriving is unsettling, to say the least.”

“You’ve got dragons in your dungeon,” he concluded.

“More than a few,” Michael couldn’t help elaborating.

“Anyway, it’ll be a delight to see Katrina again,” Lorca enthused. “We’re old friends, since our days at the Academy in fact.”

 _“Old friends.”_ This provided her with a much-needed transition, but Michael wished it hadn’t. “There’s uh.” She took a very deep breath and released it, trying to use Vulcan mindfulness to center herself. “There’s something I must tell you now, before the Admiral arrives and we all become caught up in doing whatever must be done next.”

“Alright,” he smiled. “Please, Michael, relax. I’m sure that whatever it is, I can handle it.”

“Don’t ever say that,” she insisted seriously, because she couldn’t stand his sunny disposition at this moment. “You can’t say that.”

“Just tell me,” he said beseechingly, recognizing that her most likely topic was the Buran. 

“The Buran was destroyed in battle with the Klingons,” Michael explained, hating the necessity with a fervor that actually surprised her. It seemed sharper and worse even than the circumstances merited.

“Survivors?” Lorca inquired briskly, standing and looking out the window, hands clasped mechanically behind his back.

Michael stared at his profile, her heart hammering. “None. I’m very sorry.”

“How,” he demanded, his voice tight. 

“Your….the other version of you, sir, he chose to destroy the vessel rather than have his crew reveal him as a fraud. We’re guessing that was the case, anyway. He’d have been with them long enough for his machinations to have been divined.”

 _If only I’d been as savvy,_ Michael regretted. Grateful for the rescue which Mirror Lorca had provided her, she’d been blind to his true motivations. On the other hand, most crew members on the Discovery had similar reasons for trusting their former commander. Take Lt. Stamets, for example, so thrilled to put his theories into practice that he didn’t see Mirror Lorca playing with him like a pawn on a wicked chessboard.

“On the other hand,” she reasoned pointlessly, seeing his hands pressed against the window glass, knowing he wasn’t listening anymore. “It’s possible that he blew the ship up for no particular reason outside of the hatred he bore the Federation’s values. Once he didn’t need the Buran anymore, its loss provided a satisfying rebuke to the concept of equality among races which Starfleet holds dear.”

“I see,” he said blankly. Lorca’s shoulders shook and he stared daggers into the stars. She knew he was willing himself not to burst into tears, and equally she knew that she should leave, make some quiet remark about giving him time to absorb this, repeat how sorry she was, and get out of there because that was what you did.

Michael was frozen to her chair, her heart undeniably wrapped up in worry for Lorca. She barely knew the man, but something about him drew her in like a magnet. In one sense, she had to reject the deeper emotion that propelled her line of thinking, because it was ludicrous. Mere days ago she’d been dreaming of ways to evade her prison sentence by excelling in her post and regaining Starfleet’s trust, so that she could have a life with Ash. It had been such a short time since those dreams were trampled that the feeling she had as she looked at Lorca now, the impulse to care for him which crept into her heart, it had to be false. It must be some unanticipated side effect of recent trauma, she guessed.

For a false emotion, it felt unbelievably real.

“I-I,” Lorca stammered, “I don’t know what to say.” His lips trembled and tears began to spill from his eyes at last, though he brushed them away pridefully. “I don’t know what to do, I don’t even know why I’m still here if they’re not!” Lorca grabbed the chair he’d been sitting in so cheerfully minutes before and hurled it across the room in the opposite direction from where Michael sat. The chair bounced against the wall and landed harmlessly on its side. 

“Why are you still here?” He asked Michael, gazing hatefully on the chair as if he’d hoped it would explode or tear a hole in the ship.

“I don’t know,” Michael replied honestly. She stood and approached him gingerly. “I’m just so very sorry. I understand something of what you’re going through, and…I still can’t imagine how badly this must hurt.”

“I loved them,” Lorca sobbed, his knees hitting the floor. Before she knew what she was doing, Michael joined him there and they fell into each other’s arms, his tears soaking the shoulder of her uniform as his body shook. “They were my responsibility and I abandoned them,” he went on, inconsolable. 

“You did no such thing,” Michael insisted, rubbing his back comfortingly. “You had no choice in the matter. Do not let yourself forget that.”

“I can’t,” he choked out helplessly, “I can’t go on.”

“You will,” she reassured him, holding back tears of her own at the sight of his agony, relating to his grief in a way that burned her to the soul. Truth be told, there was no way Michael could give vent to the millions of tears she’d had saved up since the Mirror Universe, since Ash — no. She had to be strong. As this moment conveyed so eloquently, others needed her, depended on her to be the rock in the storm. 

“You must go on, Gabriel. Starfleet needs you.” Michael was relying on the motivation that fueled her own decisions, hoping that he felt as strongly on the subject as she did. She believed, based on what she’d seen of him so far, that this was the case.

They said nothing more, but remained locked in the embrace for some time, moments slinking past in slow motion. She continued to caress his back as his sobs faded into whimpers, until his head drooped exhaustedly. If there was anything inappropriate about their physical proximity, as regulation and her attachment to Ash told her there must be, Michael couldn’t for the life of her comprehend why it felt so incredibly right.

*******************************************************************************

“You like him,” Tilly quipped as she and Michael ran laps around the Discovery corridors the next morning.

“What? Don’t be absurd,” Michael argued, breathing a little more heavily than she usually did from a run.

“Oh, please. Since when do you do that? You’re Michael freaking Burnham, you don’t go from zero to sixty, ever. You _hugged_ him? Come on. It’s okay, I’m not judging you.”

“I hugged him because he had just learned that over a hundred souls he pledged to protect had been obliterated by an alternate version of himself.” To her own ears, the explanation sounded rather reasonable, Michael decided.

“Right,” Tilly replied knowingly.

“If I’m honest…one other explanation has occurred to me,” Michael elaborated. “I have unresolved issues with the previous Lorca, unresolved…feelings. He saved me from imprisonment, treated me with respect, valued me as a member of this crew. I didn’t know then that his motives were despicable; I only knew that he cared for my well-being and felt I deserved a place here when no one else did. I think that on some level, I miss the Captain I thought I knew. Someone who…had my back. And I’m projecting those lost feelings of affection — _platonic_ affection — onto the current version of Gabriel Lorca.”

“Wow, that’s some speech,” Tilly replied, pausing to take a sip of water while Michael ran in place. Going nowhere felt fairly representative of her attempts to analyze this situation as well, she realized wryly. 

“Huh.” the Cadet thought about it, nodding. “Yeah, maybe. That all makes sense. Very psychologically astute.”

“Thank you,” Michael replied gratefully.

“Yeah,” her friend grinned. “Or else, you just like him. For himself.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Michael answered, worried. “If that’s the case, I’m at the worst possible juncture in my life to be forming such feelings, for reasons too long to state in their entirety. Ones that ought to be self-evident to you.”

“Totally!” Sylvia agreed, stretching her calves, “But for the thousandth time, Michael, why do you think everything has to make _sense?_ ”

That was actually a fair point, her friend had no choice but to admit to herself. After all, nothing had made actual _sense_ in months. Why should sense reassert its control over her life now, of all times?

“So do you think he’s even going to be up to this meeting with the Admiral?” Tilly asked, looking doubtful. “Or is it just too soon? If I were him, gosh, I can’t imagine _how_ long it would take me to become a functioning member of society again.”

As if in answer to her question, Lorca himself came striding around the corner, causing the two women to stop short. He was functioning, certainly, dressed in his Starfleet Captain’s uniform again, though his hair was slightly ruffled and he had a five o’clock shadow. Despite the hollow, sleep-deprived look in his eyes, Michael could sense that he was determined to put on a brave face. 

“Good morning, ladies,” Lorca said cordially. “Michael, I was wondering if I could have a word with you about my team if you have some time. You seem to have your finger on the pulse of what’s going on around here, plus a direct line to acting Captain Saru’s ear. I wouldn’t mind you putting in a good word for my people, about a few important details.”

“She’s definitely got her finger on the pulse. This one multitasks so fast, it makes my eyes cross just thinking about it,” Sylvia said with a gentle chuckle, her face softening as she looked at Lorca’s resigned face. “Look, I need to get to the lab before Lt. Stamets starts to wonder where I am, so I’ll let you two talk. Gabriel, I just want to say that I’m so deeply sorry, about the crew of the Buran.”

“Thank you, Cadet,” Lorca replied, nodding somewhat dismissively. “Truth be told, I’m trying to throw myself back into work to avoid dealing with that right now, so I’d rather you all stopped mentioning it for the time being. I don’t mean to be brusque, but…you understand.”

Tilly nodded kindly. “I do. I’ll see you both later.” She jogged off to finish her loop before joining Stamets to continue analyzing the myriad issues they were having with the spores.

“‘Gabriel?’” Michael repeated with a small smile. “I’m impressed that word’s traveled so quickly about your preference regarding first name basis. However, I noticed that your own team from the rebellion call you ‘Sir,’ sir.”

“Well, truth be told, about seventy percent of the people I tell about that whole first name thing completely ignore me. They think I’m just being cute, I guess.” His half-smile was more of an acknowledgement of Michael’s own friendly mode of beginning their conversation than an expression of real amusement. 

Michael began walking in step with the Captain as he strolled without a destination. “Cute,” she said thoughtfully, intent on figuring him out, determining what kind of an officer he had been.

This time, her puzzled response had succeeded in making him laugh. His chuckle was slight but hearty. “Why? Doesn’t that sound like me?”

Since her cheeks suddenly felt warm, no actually hot, Michael changed the subject abruptly. “So, you have questions about your team?”

“Yes, I’m especially concerned that Vravi and Helvitt be allowed to return to the Mirror Universe as soon as possible. With the Empire’s command structure likely still in upheaval, they can report back to the rebellion and help put follow-up plans into motion. Time is of the essence if the rebels are going to take advantage of this uncommon point of weakness on the Empire’s part.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged, with the Admiral’s approval,” Michael agreed. “I’ll mention it to Saru before the meeting. But what about your doctor, Tsann?”

Lorca grinned proudly, cheering up as he thought about his unique rebel teammate. “Bet you never saw a caring, Klingon doctor before, huh?”

“Certainly not,” Michael admitted. “Do you mind?” As they passed the mess hall, she nodded at it, suggesting with the gesture that they sit down and have a bite to eat.  


He shrugged. “Guess I gotta eat sometime. Think everyone in there’s bound to stare at me the whole time? I don’t know if I can chew under those circumstances.”

“Don’t pay attention to them,” Michael encouraged him, walking confidently into the room. She approached the replicator stations as if this was just any other day of the week, and Lorca followed suit. “Just keep your eyes on me and we’ll keep talking.” He nodded thoughtfully.

As he’d anticipated, everyone in the place immediately started to look over at Lorca. A silence elapsed, followed by the predictable low hum of gossip. Who was this new version of their former commanding officer, and could he be trusted?

“ _Any_ way,” Lorca resumed when they sat down in a relatively secluded corner, “It’s my belief that the Federation has a lot to learn from Tsann. Both about potential peacemaking tactics with the Klingons, and seeing an example of one they can’t possibly vilify, which kind of goes hand in hand.”

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Burnham enthused after swallowing a bite of fruit salad. “But will Tsann be amenable to this, especially if it means she has to stay here when the others return home?”

“There’s the sticking point,” he admitted. “Knowing her, she isn’t going to like this one bit.”

“Perhaps I could talk to her,” Michael suggested, taking a sip of coffee as he stirred milk and sugar into his own mug.

“I’d appreciate that,” Lorca said warmly. His eyes were liquid aquamarine, utterly captivating, making her thoughts stall in an unusual manner. 

“What, no fortune cookies?” A brash young crew member cracked as he walked by their table, flanked by some friends who were egging him on with their laughter. The cadet’s smug mask of a face nodded down at Lorca’s eggs and toast to supplement the joke.

“Quite frankly, _huh_?” Lorca asked, confused.

“Cadet, get back to your station,” Michael snapped coldly.

“And while you’re at it, consider showing a little respect for your superior officers before I pour this cup of coffee over your head and see how funny your friends think _that_ is.” Lorca winked as the younger officers scurried off, having realized that he actually would do such a thing and get off scot-free, being a Captain and all.

“Gabriel, there’s one more thing I’d like to mention…that I need to mention,” Michael said nervously, realizing that her palms were sweating. “About yesterday. I don’t mean to bring up the Buran, so let’s leave that part aside. I just meant…about the way we…”  


Gabriel looked at her with great interest, and Michael could tell he knew she wasn’t one who usually felt lost for words. _Oh, dear,_ she thought in still more agitation.

“About the way we hugged?” Lorca asked, treating the matter casually. “That was very sweet of you, Michael. I was a wreck, and you were there for me when you barely even know me. I won’t forget about that anytime soon.”

“I’m sure you know that the physical contact was not typically acceptable behavior among Starfleet officers of different standing in the chain of command, and though I currently hold no rank, the regulation should still apply. I’d like to add that it wasn’t typical behavior for _me,_ not in the least.” She took another sip of coffee, but couldn’t taste it.

“Oh, really?” His musical voice was patient, generous, free from judgement of her quirks.

“Yes. And so, since I overstepped the mark of what is considered appropriate in such scenarios, I would like to apologize.” She was glad to have gotten those words out. She was proud of herself, in fact. Now it was over with and they could forget all about it.

“You’re apologizing for something I already thanked you for,” Gabriel pointed out, but he wasn’t bewildered by her; rather, charmed. “Honestly, it was lovely, but it was just a hug. It’s nothing to be afraid of. You can go back to calling me ‘Captain’ again if that makes you feel any better.”

The joke made her laugh, tension rolling off of her as easily as that. Michael realized that as they’d been sitting there, she’d actually forgotten about all of her problems. The tension returned to her posture. That was a very bad thing, and she could not allow it. Most of all, she mustn’t forget about Ash, even for a second. She dragged her eyes from Lorca’s and stood up, taking her tray with her. 

“Thank you for understanding, Sir. I’ll see you in the Ready Room once the Admiral arrives and is ready to proceed.” Michael stood, nodded to Lorca, and left before he had time to answer.

This state of distraction which she’d allowed herself the luxury of entertaining must stop, she determined insistently. Too many people were depending on Michael for her to allow conflicted emotions to interfere with her commitment to her duty. She decided to try and go as long as possible _without_ thinking about Gabriel Lorca until she saw him again.


	3. We're alone but side by side

“So does anyone think it’s a _good_ idea that Captain Lorca is being included in this top-secret, underground-Federation, strictly hush-hush meeting, because I have my doubts,” Paul Stamets pondered aloud as he sat anxiously in the Discovery’s Ready Room along with Michael, Tilly, and Saru.

“The Captain has valuable insight into more than one matter at the forefront of our current predicament,” Michael reasoned.

“He seems on the level to me,” Tilly added, “I mean, he actually seems to be one of the most genuine people I’ve met, which is odd. I didn’t expect to like him, I have to admit.”

“This new Lorca is not inciting any fear in me,” Saru put in, “Therefore, and as we have little choice but to allow him to be reintegrated into Starfleet and this operation, I am willing to extend the same courtesy which the Cadet mentioned.”

“Eh,” Stamets complained, “I don’t trust anyone anymore. I mean, I _basically_ trust you guys, but you know.”

“Mmm, flattering,” Sylvia chuckled.

“Well, I’ve come to the conclusion that the moment you think you know someone, you’ve made your first mistake. As soon as I get hard evidence to convince me otherwise, I’ll say so and start sleeping with both eyes closed again.” Paul folded his arms, looking doubtful that this would happen anytime soon.

Tilly looked around between her crewmates and leaned forward on her elbows, murmuring so that Michael and Paul were primarily addressed. Saru had already lost interest in the exchange and had started to pace, preparing himself mentally for the Admiral’s arrival.

“Hey, Lt. Stamets,” the Cadet said playfully, casting a pointed look at Michael, “Did you like the Evil Lorca’s leather jacket, too?”

Stamets scoffed. “What?”

“He never even saw it,” Michael complained.

“We’ve all seen the security logs,” Paul and Sylvia said nearly in unison.

“Come on,” Tilly continued, “He’s dead, we can say it now!”

“True,” Paul said slowly. “Okay then, yes, he looked _very_ good in that whole outfit, I mean, what even was that shirt with like the armor sort of thing going on…” He waved a hand over his own torso, prompting Michael to stifle a laugh.

“You’re both impossible,” she pointed out as the door slid open and Gabriel Lorca came strolling in. 

Michael had composed her thoughts about him so perfectly by this time that she’d believed herself fully immunized to his charms. However, as luck would have it, the very first person in his path upon entering the room was Michael, and their eyes inadvertently met, that same chemistry flashing instantly between them. She wished she knew why she smiled then. A whole young adulthood full of Vulcan training insisted to her that the instinct reflected foolishness bordering on downright instability. Everything natural and honest inside her cooed that it was all she knew how to do.

Everyone made to stand up, but Lorca waved a hand at them. “Please, there’s no need. Sylvia, Paul, how are you this morning?”

They both nodded, Tilly’s expression cheerful and Paul’s suspicious. “Fine thanks, Captain,” he replied.

“Are you not going along with that whole first name thing?” Sylvia asked.

"Permission to speak freely, Captain?" Stamets requested.

"Granted," Lorca allowed.

“Hell, no,” Stamets said with characteristic bluntness, “It’s weird. No offense, sir.”

Lorca chortled. “I like this guy,” he said, pointing to Paul. “None taken. I _am_ weird. And Michael,” he continued, trying to inject a similarly nonchalant attitude into his greeting to her and not quite hitting the mark. “I hope you’re well today.”

“Indeed, sir,” she acknowledged with a nod. “And yourself?” Concern shimmered in her eyes, and Tilly and Stamets could not help but notice the subtle, deep-rooted bond that had already developed between herself and Lorca. 

“I’m hovering somewhere between attempting to be fine and actually achieving it, but for the purposes of today, let’s go with ‘I’m doing great,’” Gabriel explained. “Makes it easier for everyone, myself included.” He had a uniquely honest way about him that put the others at ease. “Captain Saru, you’re so quiet over there, I didn’t realize you were with us at first.” He shook Saru’s hand as the other man rejected the title he’d bestowed.

“Acting Captain,” Saru clarified, “And I highly suspect that by the time this meeting is over, I will once again be relegated to the post of First Officer. As I always expected would be the case. None of you need concern yourself with any hurt feelings of mine on the subject, as I will have none. I am sure that whoever will be taking over as Captain, as per the Admiral’s orders, will be the right person for the job.”

“If there’s no hurt feelings, why is he bothering to mention it?” Tilly murmured. “Poor baby.”

“Poor baby?” Paul repeated drily, “First time I ever heard a seven-foot Kelpien called that.”

“Anyone can be a poor baby, given the right circumstances,” Sylvia commented, making Michael smile at her typically cute belief system. Often, Michael wished she could make conversation as easily as Tilly could, though the Cadet’s bubbly, oversharing nature had a tendency to get her into trouble.

Given her own natural ability to find trouble any and everywhere, Michael knew she didn’t need any other attributes to invite it in.

“Know what would be fucked up?” Tilly whispered to Michael and Paul. “If the Admiral appointed _this_ Lorca to be our new Captain.”

“Oh, that surely won’t happen,” Michael predicted, mentally ordering her heartbeat to slow down as it began to react to Tilly’s suggestion that Lorca would be remaining onboard. Having him here permanently would mean actually confronting these feelings he caused in her, and doing that while he was her commanding officer sounded like a nightmare.

“Don’t be so sure,” Paul said matter-of-factly. “Given the way Starfleet’s conducted itself since this war started, it sounds fairly characteristic of their decision-making style. If they think it will probably stick, they'll throw it at the wall.”

“So, this was the other Lorca’s Ready Room,” Gabriel said thoughtfully, looking around. He hadn’t heard any of the gossip. “Kind of bare bones, isn’t it? No pictures, no books…only someone very low-key and boring, or someone extremely dramatic would have the room set up like this…”

“Option B,” Stamets informed him crisply.

“To be sure,” Michael couldn’t help adding as Lorca’s eyes fell on the large bowl of fortune cookies and he made a face expressive of having been deeply, personally insulted.

In a quiet, offended voice, Lorca asked, “What the fuck is this?”

“Did you not have, uh, snacks in your Ready Room on your ship?” Tilly asked. Lorca shook his head emphatically, pointing across the room.

“There’s a replicator right there, just like in every damn Ready Room in the fleet. Who does this?” He waved a hand over the bowl. “This is embarrassing.”

Nodding with understanding, everyone but the ever-severe Saru had to hold back their giggles at Lorca’s words.

*************************************************************************************

Gabriel grimaced at the way the room was arranged, not even wanting to know what else his doppelganger had gotten up to while parading around the Prime Universe pretending to be him. The invasion of privacy and humiliation factors were so high that he wished he could resurrect the man just to punch him in the face.

But there was no further time to consider such matters. Admiral Cornwell came in, followed by Ambassador Sarek, and every trace of humor evaporated until they were all as serious as Saru.

“Captain Lorca,” Katrina greeted him, a strange expression on her face. What was that, he wondered? Something about seeing Lorca unsettled her, though she smoothed it over with a serene look of authority. “I’m glad you’ve rejoined us.”

“Katrina, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” he replied warmly. “And you, Ambassador. I’ve been away too long.” The words brought a lump to Gabriel’s thoat as he inevitably thought of the Buran and couldn’t quite tamp the pain back down fast enough. Seemingly at random, his gaze caught onto Michael’s again, and she nodded at him in silent encouragement, implicit friendship. He felt slightly better and continued by shaking their visitors’ hands.

“We offer our deepest condolences regarding the Buran,” the Admiral continued sadly. “I only wish there was time to mourn our dead properly. The day will come, but in the meantime, we must push on, as time is of the essence.”

The debriefing began with an update on the Klingons’ recent strategy — or lack thereof — as they continued to spread terror and violence throughout the quadrant. They operated with no unity, the Houses competing, using Federation targets as some kind of sick trophies proving which of them would rise as the triumphant alpha. After this depressing evidence of how completely this universe had continued falling apart in the Prime Discovery’s absence, Lt. Stamets and Cadet Tilly gave their synopsis of how thoroughly useless the spore drive was going to be in the absence of, well, usable spores. Lorca listened attentively, trying to focus only on salient, promising details such as what a spore drive actually was and how it might be used — once fixed — to help win the war. 

As for the most disturbing details that confronted anyone who called themselves a Starfleet officer at this moment in time, Lorca decided to use them as inspirational material, motivation, pushing him to do whatever he could to help. That was surely the only way to get justice for all those who had already fallen victim to the war, including his own crew. The deep, abiding rage within him was kept quiet and hidden by the way he chose to use it as a strategic tool rather than unleashing it. But Lorca had to wonder if he could truly expect to avoid an explosion of his anger and grief at an inopportune time, should he become part of this conflict once again. Ultimately, he supposed that he could only do his best to keep himself glued together by duty.

“As Captain Lorca is with us again, I think it only makes sense that I give him the command I always intended for him, here aboard the Discovery,” the Admiral said, causing surprised reactions from almost everyone that played out in intriguingly different, utterly typical ways.

Paul smirked and shot Sylvia an “I told you so” look as her eyes grew saucer-wide. Saru merely nodded, while Michael’s face expressed a suddenly urgent desire to be anywhere but right in this room, right then. He was disappointed to see that his new friend actually appeared chagrined by the idea of him staying on and taking command of the vessel, but Gabriel shook it off and nodded politely to the Admiral.

“I appreciate that, Katrina. I promise that we will rise up from the destruction caused by the Mirror Lorca and embody the ideals of Starfleet we all hold dear, the ones that hold us together when we want to fall apart.” 

Gabriel felt, rather than saw, Michael’s eyes on him as he paraphrased her own words of comfort to him, and resisted the tempting urge to look back over at her. That urge was becoming a bit too addictive, yet for some reason he had a very hard time not making Michael a particular focus. He was sure it had nothing to do with how unutterably admirable and amazingly strong a person she was, or the way his heart started to beat faster at the sight of those shining, brilliant eyes of hers. It was probably unrelated to the fantasy he had about tracing her enticingly full lips with his thumb and then pressing his mouth to hers, but then again, it was better to be safe than sorry.

“Actually, Captain, it is your faith in those ideals which will be most vitally needed for what we will soon be planning,” Sarek announced. “We wish to reconvene with you tomorrow, and ask you to bring your team of rebels from the Mirror Universe.”

Mildly irked that the desperate times might be making it a little too easy for Sarek and Katrina to look upon his team as assets before even asking them if they wanted to be, Lorca nonetheless took a wait-and-see stance on the matter. 

When the conversation had ended and the participants began filing out of the room, Lorca took the chance to have another aside with Stamets, Burnham, and Tilly. 

“Did it seem to any of you that the Admiral appeared to be uncomfortable around me?” Gabriel asked, dreading the answer. Katrina had treated him with the utmost courtesy, but something had shifted in her manner towards him that made him worry. “I’m just a little paranoid. Actually, I’m starting to get habitually paranoid about what else my doppelganger did while he was pretending to be me. Did he do anything to the Admiral?”

Tilly gave him a sympathetic look. “Well, if I had to guess, I’d have to say the other Lorca did a _lot_ of things to the Admiral. If you, uh, know what I mean, sir.”

“Oh, no,” Gabriel sighed, pressing his fingers to his forehead as a headache began. He looked back up at them with his blue eyes blazing in frustration. “I’ve been friends with that woman for twenty-five years!”

“Sorry, sir,” Stamets put in, showing empathy for the new Captain for the first time. He did a small double-take, as if he, like Tilly, hadn’t expected to warm to Lorca so quickly. 

“Don’t mind me, I’m just going to go drink a bottle of whiskey, then bang my head against the wall for about an hour,” Lorca replied drily. “Or, alternatively, I could get to work around here.”

“I recommend the second option, if you don’t mind my unsolicited input, sir,” Michael smiled, her hand rising slightly as if she thought to rest it on his shoulder. She lowered it and glanced around in confusion, her maddeningly pretty, long lashes fluttering shyly. But Lorca had the instincts to know that Michael Burnham wasn’t naturally shy at all; reserved, but straightforward and confident. What was going on, then?

There were quite a few confusing aspects to being back in the Prime Universe, Lorca thought, and some of them had nothing whatsoever to do with the war or his evil double.

***************************************************************************************

The next day went by in a blur of nonstop development. They had hastened to Starbase 1 to coordinate with High Command, only to find it a husk, hollowed out of Starfleet officers, now populated by the voraciously bloodthirsty enemy. It seemed there was no time to process one grief before another faced them. Lorca thought that the glut of heartbreaks they faced at every turn was beginning to be numbing, at least to him. That might be the scariest part of the whole situation: trying to keep himself and those around him human in the face of cruelty so unthinkable.

After meeting with Emperor Georgiou, Michael came up with a typically genius plan to take the war to the Klingons on their homeworld, ending Starfleet’s more passive approach to the conflict. To supplement this strategy, Cornwell and Sarek spoke with Lorca, Michael, and the team of Mirror Universe rebels about a second plan.

“This isn’t your universe, this isn’t your fight,” Katrina began, looking at the wary faces of Vravi and Helvitt, along with the especially unenthused-looking Tsann. “Yet you still came here today to speak with us, and for that I want to thank you.”

“We came here today to again request that we immediately be sent back to our Universe,” Tsann insisted, her voice cold but her eyes lit up with fire for her cause.

“It isn’t that we don’t care about the injustices going on here, the innocents who have fallen and others that might still be saved,” Vravi elaborated, taking Tsann’s hand to comfort her. “But we have a war of our own back home, and this time, this one particular point in time seems destined to turn the tide. We can still make a difference if we can return.”

“Imagine dedicating your life to a cause, only to be told it doesn’t matter anymore and now you’re to dedicate yourself to someone else’s,” Tsann complained. “It’s ludicrous and frankly, it’s insulting.”

“Admiral, I had the opportunity to speak with Tsann recently, and I proposed to her that it would be incredibly helpful for her to stay here in a diplomatic capacity,” Michael put in, hastening to firmly defend her new Klingon acquaintance. “But she explained to me in great detail the reasons why this cannot be so for the time being.”

“Once our war is done, if travel between the two universes should be acceptable to you, I would be more than happy to come back and do what I can to help broker peace between your Starfleet and the Klingons here,” Tsann added reasonably. Then she clenched her jaw before adding emphatically, “But not now.”

Sarek observed the conversation with unnerving calm, his hands folded thoughtfully beneath his chin. “We regret that we do not currently have the ability to send you back to your universe,” he explained simply.

“And we’re supposed to believe that?” Tsann bristled.

“No offense, but honestly, it seems quite convenient that all of a sudden we can’t go back when you just happen to need our help. Well, mostly Tsann’s help,” Vravi said with a frown.

“It hardly appears convenient to me,” Helvitt objected stoically, “In fact, I would be more apt to term it ‘suspicious.’”

“Well, obviously,” Vravi said, elbowing Helvitt, “I was being sarcastic.”

“We’re being completely straightforward with you,” the Admiral elaborated apologetically. “No matter what we hope to gain from your help, we have no right to keep you here against your will. But we do not have the capacity to use our mycelium drive to send you back at this time. In fact, from the new breed of spores recently created by Lt. Stamets, we’ll just barely scrape together the resources we need to execute our attack on Q'onoS. After that, we can look at applying the spores to a return trip for you.”

“Sir, how can you allow this travesty to proceed?” Tsann pleaded to Lorca. His heart went out to the doctor and he wished he didn’t feel so trapped between his roles as Starfleet Captain and rebel leader, like a ropes pulling him hard in both directions until morality couldn’t shed light on the correct answer.

“And I suppose,” Vravi added, crossing her arms, “That the spore drive will magically be ready for our use as soon as we help you in your diplomatic proceedings.”

“This is not the time for cynicism,” Sarek stated sagely. “A war like this, or a cause like your own rebellion, requires one to set aside such petty and narrow-minded concerns and look within ourselves for the hope we need to survive and make a difference. Whenever injustices surround us, wherever we are, it falls upon us to confront and undo them, whether or not we consider the fight to be ‘ours.’”

The rebels exchanged thoughtful glances while the Admiral couldn’t help but notice how conflicted Lorca and Burnham still appeared to be in their opinion on the matter.

“Starfleet is charging into a battle that represents an approach completely in contrast to the humanistic and peace-focused way we go about doing things. Why? Because we have no choice,” Katrina began. “And so we find ourselves at cross-purposes. If Starfleet is to maintain its integrity despite the inevitable dirtying of our hands that this war will bring, we must seek to pick up the pieces afterwards with the utmost decency. We must hold to our ideals, as Captain Lorca mentioned.”

“Actually,” Gabriel clarified, unable to keep it back, “Specialist Burnham is the one who made that concept so beautifully clear to me.”

Michael looked at him almost accusingly, and he managed to wink at her without the others noticing. Silently, she communicated quite eloquently her disapproval of his compliment, but he was equally capable of replying with his own innocent smile, as if to say, _What?_

“Well,” the Admiral said unflappably, nodding to Michael with respect, still highly impressed by the battle plan for Qo'noS she had brought to them, “Specialist Burnham is correct. And so to keep those values in our hearts and our actions, we must be ready to start post-war negotiations with the Klingons. Our goal will be to make sure no war like this ever breaks out again between our peoples.”

“We must begin these proceedings in earnest at once, concurrently with our more aggressive battle plans, so that when the battle of Qo’noS is concluded, we will be prepared to broach the topic of peace, make it a reality,” Sarek added.

“You’re throwing the word ‘must’ around a lot,” Vravi pointed out darkly, sinking into her chair with a scowl. “I know you see Tsann as a tool for your peace talks, but did it ever occur to you that starting out by bullying her into compliance is a bad way to lay the foundations you’re talking about?”

“Again, we’re not forcing you to do anything,” Cornwell objected. “We can’t—”

“You can’t send us home now, so while we’re here, can we help, will we help,” Tsann interrupted, her voice steely and resigned. She had become calmer in response to Vravi’s agitation so that their roles were swapped, something which Lorca had noticed was a habit between the two women. The way they were always there for one another was just one reason why this team was so special.

“Yes,” Gabriel confirmed. “And I personally will respect whatever decision you make on this subject. You are by no means prisoners and may do as you please during your time in this universe. It’s essential that you know that.”

“When we are able to send you home, we will,” Michael promised with that undoubtable integrity of hers that could probably convince a flinty Romulan warlord to adopt a tribble.

Tsann leaned back and drummed her fingers on the table. “Very well,” she decided. “Since we are here, and there is need, I am willing to do what I can.”

“Where she goes, I go,” Vravi stated definitively, though she still looked defensive of Tsann.

“As for me, I find I have little purpose in life but to remain among my teammates,” Helvitt explained. “Prior to being a part of this team, I was considered to be a useless dolt, even by my own parents. Yet Captain Lorca believed I could be more, that the very scientific skills considered to be third-rate by my family and higher-ranking rebels might actually be valuable, might have direct application in saving lives. Therefore, if he believes this is the right action to take, I will follow him once again.”

“Captain Lorca, It seems you have impressive skills of discernment in assembling a team and visualizing the best ways to put their individual abilities to use,” Sarek observed. “This only confirms the validity of the plan which the Admiral and I have devised.”

“And that plan is?” Lorca inquired.

“We’re going to split the Discovery crew in half,” Cornwell announced. “Half of you will disembark aboard another ship, the Elysium, and work on diplomatic relations with the Klingons. You will begin by investigating factions of Klingons who are willing to seek peace with us. The other half of the crew, Lt. Stamets and Commander Saru included, will remain here under my temporary command as we set off for Qo’noS. When that battle is concluded, the Discovery crew will reunite and you will resume your command, Gabriel.”

“Michael, I made it clear to the Admiral that your combined intelligence and compassion make you exceptionally well suited to go with Captain Lorca on his new mission,” Sarek told her, fatherly pride managing to break through his Vulcan reserve, however subtly.

“Sarek, I have to question if that’s truly best, given what happened to my parents and what I have recently been through with Lt. Tyler,” Michael worried. “I’m not one to be swayed by emotion or put my needs above the priorities assigned to me by Starfleet, but what if these past experiences should influence me without warning and damage the peace we are striving for?”

“It’s my belief that confronting your feelings about the Klingons will help you to recover from your recent ordeals and finally come full circle regarding your past tragedies,” Sarek answered in a way that let Gabriel know he had a habit of cutting off Michael’s objections with annoyingly irrefutable logic.

Having a Vulcan father couldn’t be easy for a human, he thought, wondering how, despite the almost intimidating wisdom her father laid down rather inarguably, Michael managed to remain so implacably composed and almost regal in her dedication to duty. She was nothing if not unceasingly fascinating.

"Well, I could certainly use a talented xenoanthropologist on this mission. But what post would you prefer, Specialist?" Lorca inquired.

Michael looked surprised that he had asked, but he wasn't going to sit there and let her feel pressured into doing something with which she couldn't be comfortable. Maybe it was a bit out of line for him to ask the question when the admiral had already decided on Burnham's role in this, but he could take the heat if so. 

She gave a tight smile and replied, "I'm willing to go with you, Captain, and help with the diplomatic mission. I believe that Sarek has a point, and that I must also go where I will be most useful. I have experience in negotiating with the rebels in the Mirror Universe and insight into the Klingons' modus operandi from my involvement with the war here on our side. What's more...I regret the part I played at the Battle of the Binary Stars, and perhaps this will provide me a way to right that wrong." Lorca gave her a short nod, while Sarek and Cornwell bore the brief interruption more patiently than he had expected.

“Well, this has been the shortest command stint of my career,” Lorca said lightly, trying to infuse some humor to ease Michael’s tension and that of his team.

“The change, as I indicated, is temporary.” Katrina and Sarek stood, then the admiral patted her old friend Lorca on the back, having gotten over the initial awkwardness caused by memories of his Mirror self. “Really, Gabriel, I promise. You’ve been through enough, and we all know you deserve a straight path and a ship to take you there. Just one detour down the rabbit hole, okay?”

“Right,” Lorca agreed with a friendly smile. But inside, he couldn’t help thinking, _famous last words…._

“We’ll also be relieving you of the considerable overpopulation of actual and quasi-criminals you have here on the Discovery,” Cornwell continued. “Emperor Georgiou’s insight will be key to our success on Qo’noS, and L’Rell will be best consigned to a more secure prison facility. As for Lt. Tyler, his recovery will be overseen by the best psychiatrists we have available. These Starbases are en route to Qo’noS and can easily be worked into our journey.”

Lorca saw the twist of emotion that seized Michael’s heart at the Admiral’s words and pressed his hands to his knees, secretly longing to ease her pain, enfold her in his embrace as she had soothed his own grief. From what Gabriel had heard of what she had gone through with Tyler, the sadness in her eyes indicated a reservoir of agony beneath the surface.

He couldn’t help wondering though, especially as he pondered his own ordeals of trauma and loss, whether it was a reservoir, after all, or a whirlpool. Perhaps, both for Michael and himself, the answer remained to be seen.


	4. Quiet restraint takes such accomplishment

Michael walked into the Elysium’s mess hall for the first time the following evening, frankly in need of a drink and some distraction, two primal urges she normally defied at their first emergence.

But this had been a hard day, even by her standards. Sighing, she looked around at the smattering of crewmates sitting and eating, their chatter quiet and thoughtful, typical of trying to get used to a new situation and an unexpected mission. Michael felt a tremor of nervousness that irritated her to no end when her eyes landed on Captain Lorca, who sat alone, a plate of food left untouched in front of him. He’d found a secluded corner, just like the one he’d opted for on the Discovery, and was staring out at the stars with a deeply contemplative expression she found to be exceptionally handsome. Well, he hadn’t seen her, so she could still escape and avoid falling into that second urge which tempted her so insistently this evening: _distraction._

But Lorca sensed her somehow and turned slightly, nodding with a friendly but gentle smile. He would not come over to her or invite her to join him if it wasn’t what she wanted. They both recognized the value of company and solitude in equal measure, meted out to the times when either were needed. The question was whether Michael wanted to do what was logical or what she actually _felt_ like doing, and stress had broken down her resistance to the latter.

The odd compulsion that seemed to fuel her decision-making when it came to the Captain took her over until she found herself hovering beside him, tray of dinner in hand, inquiring, “May I join you, sir?”

He smiled again, looking pleased that she’d decided to ask. “Please do, Michael.”  


As she sat down, he watched her thoughtfully, adding, “Tough day?”

Her answering smile was ironic. “Is there any other kind to be had lately? And if so, where can I sign up?” Gabriel’s crystal gaze swept over her anxious features and he opened his mouth to speak before closing it again, as if thinking better of something.

“If you’ll forgive me for asking, sir, you appear almost ready to ask me for permission to speak freely. Have you forgotten our respective ranks?” Michael let the words roll off her tongue recklessly because she was hurting and the way he made her feel _felt_ so undeniably good. He had the power to make her forget, and tonight she wanted that, though a little voice in her head argued that the instinct was selfish.

“Never for a split second, I assure you,” Lorca replied with a significance Michael found intriguing enough that her own more assertive attitude was stilled by it. “However, as a friend, in an entirely appropriate capacity, I was going to ask a certain question, if you don’t mind.”

“Please proceed,” Michael blurted, feeling awkward, as if his own typically genuine behavior had ruined her ability to play with their dynamic within safe bounds.

A nervous smile played around his tempting lips, a hopeful look lighting up his face that made Michael actually feel guilty that she’d tried to use this feeling between them to ease the misery the day had imposed on her. She realized that she never wanted to use him, that he deserved better and she’d already gone too far.

“Can I buy you a drink?” Lorca asked, his tone unmistakably flirtatious though he played it off as a friend trying to make another friend smile. Michael was taken aback by how easily she read his expressions; he was far from a simple man.

“That phrase is an old-fashioned Earth derivation, antiquated further by the nonexistence of currency in our time. I might also add that given its lack of realistic application and its prevalence in certain contemporary contexts, it is also an undeniably…amorous colloquialism.” Michael tried to use florid language to cloak her complicated feelings, but knew with one look back at him that he wasn’t fooled.

“Certain contemporary contexts. Nice use of alliteration there,” Gabriel complimented her.

“Thank you,” Michael replied tensely.

“Sure, it’s an amorous colloquialism, unless it’s not. I could just be expressing friendly concern for your melancholy mood right now, Specialist.” Unfortunately, his tendency to refer to her by her first name had made his use of her title sound bizarrely, unnervingly sexy. And his accent truly wasn’t making this any easier. “Maybe I was just being adorable.”

“Yes, the famous cuteness of Captain Gabriel Lorca rears its head again,” Michael joked, eliciting a chortle from him.

“Does the crew seem to be taking to me?” He asked as an aside. “I try to play off being a total goofball as if it’s cool, which in turn projects confidence. Are they buying it?”

Michael laughed. “I believe you’ve been quite successful in winning us — that is, in winning the crew over and proving yourself a capable and likable leader, sir.”

“Good. Of course, I assume you’re being too kind, since that’s always your first instinct. So, platonically and with no nonsense whatsoever intended, again I inquire, may I buy you a drink, Michael?” 

A reply was called for, whether coy, direct, or rejecting, but Michael found that her tongue had been replaced by a desert, so she only nodded.

“What do you like?” He asked, pausing by her elbow. _“You!”,_ her brain screamed. But Michael strove to rise above the powder keg of desire he was arousing within her by acting as naturally as possible — naturally, that is, for anyone who wasn’t problematically attracted to their Captain.

Michael tried again to project a cool facade. “Vodka, please,” she said smoothly. He nodded with theatrical politeness designed to amuse her, and her coolness evaporated. She laughed again, sitting there by herself and wondering what the hell she thought she was doing by continuing to engage in this unusual dance with Lorca.

He returned and slid the glass over to her, lifting his own and proposing a toast. “To new adventures,” he suggested, and she clinked her glass against his. Michael found the phrase appropriately vague and apparently well-suited to their current mission while actually being direct and perfectly, if inappropriately, fitting to their relationship. _Damn this man,_ she thought, _and damn his effect on me._

“Aren’t you going to eat?” Michael asked as the ice cold liquor washed down her throat. She willed it to take the edge off her nerves while not going straight to her head. After all, if she wanted those things combined, she had Lorca for that.

“Don’t you find it difficult, eating these days?” He asked more seriously, looking down at his plate with disdain. “This all looks perfectly appetizing, but I’m so brimming with adrenaline over everything that’s happening, I can’t seem to taste anything.”

“If I eat, will you eat?” Michael encouraged, taking a bite of her sandwich.

With that, Lorca dug his spoon into the potatoes on his plate. “Okay,” he agreed, clearly appreciating her concern.

“All that adrenaline, it can be useful,” she said, drawing from experience to try and illuminate the matter, since he’d brought it up. “It can keep your head very sharply in the game and have you ready to spring into action when you need to. On the other hand, it can also lead you astray.”

“Like making you procrastinate on meals?” Gabriel inquired, cutting into his steak.

“Like making you confuse your feelings of newfound friendship for something more because all of your senses are heightened and it’s hard to be sensible. Perhaps you and this new friend have an immediate rapport. Maybe she feels safe with you, and afraid when she’s with someone else. If you’ve both been rocked by recent trauma, that can make the way you feel…deceptive.” Michael chewed as casually as she could, attempting not to choke as she regretted being so forward in discussing their situation.

“I see,” Gabriel mused. He took another sip of his drink and gave her a quick glance that made her feel remarkably naked. “That’s a very interesting random theoretical scenario you’ve introduced to our conversation, Specialist Burnham. If it’s all the same to you, I’ll figure out my own feelings for myself. I recommend it. It tends to work best in the long run.”  


Oh, no. Now she’d offended him, come off as condescending and dismissive of their bond. Wasn’t that the attitude she should be projecting? If so, why did it make her immediately hate that she’d gone there?

Michael might have expected that to be the end of it, a cold reversion to formality. But she would have been mistaken.

“Who are you afraid of?” Gabriel asked, honey coating his tone, solicitude shining from his gaze instead of resentment or hurt feelings.

“I, uh…” Michael gulped down the last of the vodka and looked at Lorca almost desperately. “I had to say goodbye to Lt. Tyler today. And in doing so…I had to end our romantic relationship. Although I know in my heart that it was Voq, not Ash who murdered Dr. Culber and attacked me…” She shook her head. “The images will not free my mind, and the feelings of fear they inspire are still inside me whenever I look at him. The man I loved. It is…truly unbearable.” Tears clung to her eyelashes…where had they come from? “You know how the Admiral spoke of picking up the pieces after the war is over, regaining some semblance of order and hope for the future? When it comes to Lt. Tyler, and even when I see Emperor Georgiou, there are so very many broken pieces within me that I don’t think I can ever be whole again.”

“I wish I knew how to make you feel any better about that,” Lorca answered softly, “But all I can do is say that I’m here for you. And that with time, I believe you will be whole again, and happy, too.”

There it was again, the sensation of safety and comfort he exuded over Michael’s senses like a warm quilt. It couldn’t be real, if for no other reason than that it was far too convenient and easy. Love was many things, she’d learned, but it was never easy.

Not that falling for your commanding officer when you were far from over your very recent break-up and restricted from acting on those feelings by strict regulations was the definition of simple, but compared to what she’d been through with Ash…

Being with Lorca felt as easy as breathing. 

*************************************************************************************

It became a routine, the dinners together, undertaken in a seemingly perfunctory manner, though the way Michael came to depend on it spoke of other motives. Finally, after watching the scene with restrained curiosity for several evenings, Tilly asked Michael about it over breakfast. Dipping a spoon into her yogurt, Sylvia looked at Michael’s distracted expression with a quiet interest that was uncharacteristic enough to catch her friend’s attention.

“What?” Michael chuckled, biting into a slice of orange.

“Nothing,” Tilly covered unevenly. “It’s just…what exactly are you going to do about this whole, you know…” She nodded over to the replicators, where Captain Lorca stood with a cup of coffee in his hands, chatting with Saru and Detmer. “ _That._ ”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Michael said, knowing it was a doomed deflection.

“You earned this eye roll, so please enjoy it,” Sylvia ordered her, giving an especially exaggerated one. “You and Captain Blue Eyes over there have had dinner together every night since we’ve been on the Elysium. Looking at each other like _you’re_ each the meal—”

“Shhh!” Michael whisper-screamed, taking a sip of her coffee and realizing she’d put too much sugar in it. She made a disdainful face and said, “We’re merely friendly crewmates discussing mission-related matters. It’s not worth further analyzing.”

“A few people were joking about setting up some candles in the middle of your table, plus lowering the lights and getting someone to stand next to you playing the violin.”

“That is definitely a joke,” Michael retorted derisively, sweat beginning to prickle all around her collar. She glanced over to Lorca only to find that he looked back and gave her the world’s tiniest, most endearing smile. Gulping, she met Tilly’s kind but not at all deceived eyes and gave a sigh. “Just leave it alone, would you? I need to do that myself, but I seem to be having a strange problem in summoning the strength.”

“That, I get,” Sylvia assured her, dropping the subject for the time being.

*********************************************************************************

That evening’s dinner seemed to find Michael determined to keep their conversation focused on business, Gabriel noticed. She plunged head-on into a detailed commentary on everything they might expect from the gathering they were attending soon. After much investigation and careful, keen vetting led by Tsann, the crew of the Elysium had found a faction of Klingons who were against the war with the Federation. They were willing to meet and discuss other options, perhaps ways to convince the warring Klingons to stop their onslaught, should the attack on Qo’noS — which must be about to begin by now — prove a failure. Perhaps, if the Klingon homeworld’s defeat was achieved and made the enemy forces take pause for long enough, what they discussed at this encounter with their new potential allies would form the beginnings of post-war peace talks.

Talking a mile a minute, Michael canvassed every strategic variable they must prepare for. What if this was a trap, the faction of supposedly peaceful Klingons just drawing Starfleet in for another attack? What if they couldn’t make headway in finding common ground between the Federation and Klingons? What if…was she ever going to stop?

“Hey, Michael, I thought the rule was that if you eat, I eat.” Gabriel raised his eyebrows in amused, somewhat perplexed accusation. “You haven’t touched that food.”

“I suppose I was just so focused on the mission,” Michael explained, moving rice around on her plate, listless. Yup, something was up.

She took a few bites and avoided his eyes, chewing mechanically. He gave her space until she started hurriedly spooning up her desert and he realized she might not actually start talking, or indeed ever look at him again unless he reinitiated the conversation.

Michael looked up slightly startled when he reached across the table and swiped his thumb across her mouth. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “You had a little ice cream right there.” Did part of him dream about Michael opening her mouth and reclaiming the strawberry dessert from his finger? If so, he covered for that in a terribly unconvincing manner that suited this crazy situation to a tee. If the thought had crossed her mind as well, it might explain why she froze for a beat, her mouth half-open, gazing into his eyes with unmistakable desire.

Looking around them, Michael glared at him and murmured, “You can’t do things like that.”

“Sorry again? I didn’t mean to be—”

Oh no, she was very beautiful when she was angry, Lorca realized. Then he came to the conclusion that she was extremely angry, because she stared at him like an avenging angel of whom he should be very afraid.

“You never do, but here we are, night after night, and neither one of us is doing anything to stop this ill-advised, quasi-dating habit of ours, but someone needs to. Since despite my not usually being all that socially smooth — while you are, I might add — I am apparently the only one reasonable enough to put an end to it, it falls to me.” Michael stabbed at her sundae and he kind of felt bad for it, or his heart identified with it, anyway.

“Quasi-dating?” He repeated feebly, almost wanting to hold his hands out in surrender.

“As if you don’t know what I mean,” she chortled humorlessly. “Captain, how can you be this infuriatingly slow to read basic social cues? You’re not this naive, it’s impossible.” Oh, he was screwed. 

She sighed heavily, finally putting the spoon down and letting the melted strawberry puddle die in peace. “Haven’t you ever even…I mean, why are you still single, anyway?”

“I have, even,” Gabriel explained awkwardly, “It just never worked out. They were never the right woman for me. I made up other excuses, but ultimately, I didn’t feel enough for any of them to make it permanent.”

“Well, what about you and Admiral Cornwell?” Michael inquired, and he could tell she’d carried the question in the back of her mind for some time.

“What about it? We’re friends and that’s _it_ , aside from my Mirror self’s penchant for humiliating me and ruining my life.” He saw the relieved look on her face, the flicker of jealously disappearing, and couldn’t help a satisfied smirk. _Aha!_ Unfortunately, this was probably not a good moment for smirking.

“You don’t have dinner every night, alone, with a lower-ranking member of your crew, Captain. It’s not normal, it’s not done. Partially, it’s my fault. I was the one who started this.” Her voice vacillated from annoyed to regretful in a way that made him think she might not want to let go of this, let go of them, whatever they were, quite so easily.

“It’s not as though we’re eating alone in my quarters, Specialist. Really. You’re overreacting.” There, that would solve it. _Nooo, apparently not._ Michael stood and crumpled her napkin, dropping it on the table with a more dramatic air than she usually showed, which meant that she was indeed well and truly pissed off. At him. _Ugh,_ he thought in dread at her next words.

She left it at a snippy, “You’re _underreacting_!”

He took her elbow lightly and murmured, “I know it’s not normal. I just didn’t want to stop. I don’t want to stop. I’ll miss you.” 

Michael was so frustrated that she could only manage to whisper, “I’ll miss you too,” before she walked away.

Lorca noticed then that everyone in the mess hall was looking over at his table, and maybe Michael had a point. Oh, well. Just because he had no idea what to do about the woman didn’t mean he was going to wake up not smitten with her tomorrow morning. Despite everything, he was still basically an optimist, though God knew why he had managed to hold onto his positive outlook. Anyway, it had Gabriel convinced that a solution to this issue between himself and Michael would present itself.

He looked out the window and begged the stars, _Come on, Universe. Anytime now. I’m waiting._ “I’ve _been_ waiting,” he muttered.


	5. Better believe the sea of changes

“I’m finding it hard to keep finding nice things to say about rokeg blood pie,” Gabriel murmured to Michael, who suppressed a laugh. They looked around at the table of new Klingon acquaintances, residents of this moon long thought to be abandoned, now the headquarters of the secret, peace-seeking faction. The heated cave was lit by red-flamed candles, the long table generously covered in diverse cuisines. So far, the meal was proceeding in a mood of remarkably pleasant cordiality. Part of the agreed-upon approach for these Starfleet/Klingon meetings was to show mutual respect by sharing aspects of their cultures.

“Try the zilm’kach,” Michael suggested. “By the way, I’m not sure our hosts are much more impressed with human food.” 

Across the table, the resistance leader Ch'kisa Xunkicx flared pointed teeth at the forkful of barbecued chicken he held. “Repulsive,” he commented, setting the fork down and reaching for the gagh. "I need something that fights back against me as I eat it. Er, no offense.”

“That's quite alright,” Lorca replied smoothly. “It’s enjoyable to share a meal with new allies and speak of the peace we might forge. Exchanging cultural tidbits is a nice way to symbolize the understanding we want to reach, but indulging is hardly mandatory.” Looking grateful for Ch’kisa’s surrender back to his own preferred cuisine, Gabriel helped himself to the fries.

“Ketchup?” Michael asked, grinning at his adorable look of relief and squirting some on his plate as he nodded his thanks, chewing much more happily.

“You and your mate seem very happy together,” said Ch’kisa’s wife Krah. Michael almost choked on her chech’tluth, which truth be told, wasn’t half bad. She patted her throat as Gabriel’s face turned beet red.

“Oh, no, Specialist Burnham and I aren’t together in that sense,” Lorca rushed to clarify. _Oh, now I’m Specialist Burnham again,_ Michael thought in amusement. 

“Ah, you will forgive the error, Captain Lorca. It’s just that you gaze upon each other with a look of belonging which reminds me of the way I look at my beloved Krah right before we begin our mating ritual of an evening.” Ch’kisa looked every bit as if he considered this to be perfectly acceptable, casual small talk. Michael and Gabriel were struck mutually dumb, mouths hanging slightly open as Tilly hurried to assist them.

“Ch'kisa, Krah, I’m so impressed with the great work you’re doing to counteract the violence the other Houses have been committing throughout the quadrant,” Sylvia put in briskly, but sincerely. “It’s astonishingly brave of you to go up against numbers like that — honestly, it’s so inspirational to me.” She winked at Michael, who shot her a look that said “thanks for the rescue.”

“Thank you, Cadet,” Krah said proudly. “When we founded this resistance group, it was because my husband and I refused to allow these atrocities to progress any further without making some attempt, however small, to stop them. Klingons may find glory in a righteous battle, but this war is unjust and cruel. The reasons for the battle hinge upon a flimsy excuse of thinking the Federation intends to wipe out our culture and absorb it into their all-encompassing collective.” She chortled derisively. “Lies. The true inspiration for this hateful war is greed — greed and shameful bloodlust.”

“The blood spilt has indeed gone beyond any horror I have witnessed in my life,” Michael agreed. “I hold myself partially responsible for giving the Klingon fleet an unintentionally aggressive impression of the Federation during the Battle of the Binary Stars. There’s nothing I would not do in order to help set things right.”

“Do not blame yourself, Specialist,” Ch’kisa said, surprisingly soothing for an otherwise gruff and boastful Klingon. “No mistake on your part would ever excuse the crimes which were then perpetrated against Starfleet.”

“You know, you should listen to this guy,” Lorca said to Michael under his breath. “He makes some solid points.”

“You mean about the mating ritual?” Michael asked daringly. _Oh, dear,_ she realized after blurting the teasing words. It seemed that she might have imbibed a few too many sips of potent Klingon alcohol. 

Lorca was taken aback, but by no means offended — far from it, actually. A slow, sexy smile spread over his face as he replied, “That’s open for discussion anytime, and I think you know that.” Enjoying his playful revenge on her own flirtatious comment as she tried and failed to stammer a reply, Lorca added, “Actually, I just meant that it’s time to forgive yourself, Michael.”

She slid her hand over his where it rested on his knee under the table. “Do you take your own advice?” she asked.

“Good question,” Lorca said, admitting that he found it just as hard to let himself off the hook for the Buran’s awful fate. “I’m still waiting for life to teach me the answer.” His warm fingers encircled hers and their eyes remained locked for another moment before they rejoined the larger discussion.

“So,” Gabriel remarked after everyone had dispersed, “That went well.”

“It did!” Tilly gushed excitedly. “Sir, thank you so much again for taking me on this mission. If I’m going to make Captain one day, I need to excel at every facet a commanding officer needs, and diplomacy is a huge piece of the puzzle.”

“You’re certainly off to a good start, then, Cadet,” he replied, kindly but truly. “Tsann, you look troubled.”

Tsann gathered her shawl around her shoulders in response to the evening air growing chillier. “It _was_ good, and that concerns me. Is this going too auspiciously, too quickly? I fear a conspiracy. Although we’ll go on in the spirit of mutual trust, I will feel none until I learn more about these people.”

“We spent a lot of time going over the history of your war with the Klingons to date,” Vravi explained, “And it’s left us distinctly paranoid.”

“Can’t say as I blame you two,” Lorca replied as he noticed Michael acting somewhat peculiarly, wandering over to stare at a bright blue burst of vegetation which sprouted from the rust-red ground, running her fingers over the spiraling tendrils of the plant as if it was immensely fascinating. It was unlike her not to add her two cents to a conversation such as this.

“Yeah, it’s only healthy for us to be suspicious,” Tilly agreed. “We just can’t let it consume us to the point of sabotaging what could very well be a legitimate chance to begin making peace between our peoples.”

“Exactly,” Lorca concurred. “Do you think you can both keep that balance intact?”

“I know we can both strive to do so, and that our success in maintaining it will depend on Ch’kisa and his people,” Tsann said as Vravi nodded. “In any case, we will see you both in the morning. Come, Helvitt, we know you won’t remember where your lodgings are. Follow us.”

“They are quite correct,” Helvitt remarked, “I am unusually forgetful for a Vulcan.”

“But I wouldn’t have been able to build that transport-cloaker without you, Helvie, and the same goes for all our other jerry-rigged rebel inventions,” Vravi reminded him affectionately. “Come on, let’s go.”

As they strolled off, Michael happened to be straightening her posture, and her eyes caught Vravi slipping her arm under Tsann’s while the other woman patted her hand. 

After Tilly bade them goodnight, Michael asked Gabriel, “Are Vravi and Tsann a couple?”

Lorca looked slightly unsure. “I think so? They’ve broken up and gotten back together so many times that I stopped trying to keep count. Seems like they’ve rekindled it again, though, huh? Can I walk you to your room, Michael?”

“Alright,” She agreed, mimicking Vravi’s easy motion by taking Lorca’s arm. He looked at her in surprise, but she hastened to add, “Are _we_ a couple?”

Gabriel shook his head in confusion at her new candor, starting to walk anyway as if it would make this situation any less overwhelming. “I thought you said we couldn’t be.”

“ _Regulations_ say we can’t be,” Michael corrected him with a smile. “But are we?”

When they reached the door of her room, he led her in and took a long look at her disoriented expression. “Are you drunk?”

She lifted two fingers and pinched the air. “Perhaps a bit. I did not realize that this could occur from only a few sips of chech’tluth.” She swayed and he placed his hands firmly on her arms, anchoring her. “Hot in here, isn’t it?”

Michael stepped away long enough to pull off the black jacket she’d put on over her dark blue tank top and tan cargo pants. One of the symbolic gestures agreed upon by the participants of these meetings was that all attendees would dress in non-military clothing. This had made Gabriel realize that he had hardly anything with him to wear besides his uniform, so he’d ended up having some everyday clothes replicated. 

“They crank the heat in these caves,” he said, trying to avert his unease by making an obvious comment. It really was sweat-inducing in here, and not just because of the way she was acting. He pulled off his own coat for the sake of remaining basically comfortable while he made sure she was okay.

Lorca watched as Michael flopped down on the bed, reclining there in her snugly fitting shirt and rather flattering trousers as he questioned whether he was awake or dreaming. Her posture was unquestionably inviting, her gaze lingering on him in a downright “come hither” manner that made heat course throughout his body.

“One thing just became overwhelmingly clear to me,” he announced shakily, preparing to tell her that they should say goodnight immediately. He watched with baited breath as she stood again and approached him, standing much too close.

“To me as well,” Michael purred, running a finger from the sleeve of his black t-shirt to his bare arm just beneath it. “You work out.”

“ _Ooookay,_ ” Gabriel decided, interrupting her attempts to follow up her initial investigation by slipping her hands into the back pockets of his trousers, “You need to sleep it off, Specialist.”

“Don’t you want to know what I specialize in?” Michael inquired, fluttering her long lashes and making him forget everything but how adorable and sexy he found her. He forced his brain back to reality and took hold of her wrists, preventing any further advances from her as she pouted. “You’re no fun.”

“I'm a lot of fun under the right circumstances, but these aren't those,” Lorca answered, guiding her over to the bed, where he pulled the sheets down and helped her get in. He slid her boots off, murmuring, “There we go,” glancing back up at her face to find she was already falling asleep.

“Goodnight, Michael,” he sighed, kissing her forehead before he turned to go.

“I feeelllt that,” Michael sang at him as he left, and he couldn’t help laughing in reply.

**************************************************************************  
“It feels like someone is striking the inside of my head with a sledgehammer,” Michael glowered as she arrived at the meeting place the following morning. “Repeatedly.”

“Ugh,” Sylvia replied sympathetically, patting Michael’s shoulder. “I’m totally sticking with water the rest of the time we’re here. Although we can make one exception.” She handed Michael a steaming mug. “This is plain old coffee.”

“I don’t know if I’ve ever been more grateful in my life,” she sighed, taking a sip of the bitterly reassuring drink.

“Sorry to rain on the good mood parade,” Lorca said by way of greeting as he came in and Michael immediately felt her cheeks burning. “But I’ve got some worrisome news to share with you both.”

“Can you share it without shouting?” Michael inquired, pressing her fingers to her temple.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly, lowering his voice a bit, though it had hardly been raised in the first place. “It seems that Ellen Landry and her companions have escaped Starfleet custody. Their current location and plan is anyone’s guess.”

“That’s all kinds of disturbing,” Sylvia noted, frowning in distress. “Wasn’t she second in command to the other you?”

“Yeah, and that’s got me thinking about why she was so damned determined to get over here to this universe in the first place,” Lorca pondered. “It’s been bugging me since I first arrived and we never did get a satisfactory answer, just vague promises of ruination to all who had ever wronged her. Makes me wonder if she’s planning to go after Emperor Georgiou, though how she’d ever find her in the aftermath of the battle is beyond me.” 

They’d received word the day before that the conflict on Qo’noS had ended in victory for Starfleet, crippling the majority of the Klingon’s weapons caches for the time being. Time enough, as they hoped, to sweep in with their new allies and try to establish peace given that the Federation was far from unable to rise up and bring serious trouble to the Klingons’ front door. With no way to strike back, would the Houses finally recede in their ludicrous refusal to budge from their insane ideals?

Now they had another question to add to the pile. If Landry was in the wind, how long would it really be before they found out her reason for being here?

“What if it isn’t just the Emperor with whom she has grievances?” Michael set her cup down on the table as a new worry occurred to her. “After all, it was my arrival on the imperial flagship that ultimately set the stage for Mirror Lorca’s demise. If we assume she seeks vengeance for the death of her leader and the way it subsequently stripped her of her own power, it naturally follows that I may be one of her targets. Or so might you, Captain. Perhaps it infuriates her that you live on while her own Lorca does not.”

“Right, plus let’s not forget that Mirror Lorca had that massive obsession with your double, Michael,” Tilly put in. “Maybe it bothered Landry that she could never be as important to him as the other Michael, that she’d never rule beside him unless she got rid of Mirror You first.”

“Oh, naturally,” Gabriel fumed. “As if every other quality about the man wasn’t aggravating enough, he also had a sexual obsession with the other Michael.”

“Uhhh, I never said it was a _sexual_ obsession,” Sylvia observed, her eyes sparkling at the awkward glance which Lorca and Burnham exchanged.

“At any rate, we’d best be prepared that our mission could be interrupted at any point by an attack from Landry and her followers,” Michael determined.

“Exactly,” Gabriel agreed, nodding. “As Tsann and Vravi indicated last night, a little paranoia is a valuable tool in our current arsenal.”

“Speaking of the rebels, I’m going to go check on them, make sure they don’t run late to this meeting,” Tilly decided, and since the three of them had all showed up quite early, Michael knew she was really just making an excuse to give her friend and the Captain a few minutes to talk.

“ _Was_ it a sexual obsession?” Lorca asked, distracting Michael from the throbbing in her head, which was really quite an accomplishment.

“Why do you want to know?” Michael couldn’t help her curiosity anymore than Lorca could resist his own. Surely this was one of the more profoundly repetitious aspects of their relationship.

“Because,” he said angrily, “If the other me hurt the other you, I’m going to find an ion storm to time travel through so I can kick his ass. I’ve had it with hearing about the relentless onslaught of misdeeds he committed, and this one bothers me the most, you know why.” Michael’s heart caught in her throat as Gabriel paced anxiously around the table, his iron grip landing on a chair back as he turned to face her. “How could any version of me treat you badly?”

“By all accounts, it was a morally questionable relationship conducted through manipulation and, as Cadet Tilly mentioned, obsession on the part of the Mirror Universe Lorca,” Michael explained slowly, knowing he wanted her honesty as much as ever, no matter how much it hurt. “That said, the affair was undertaken mutually. And…you shouldn’t blame yourself for aspects of that Lorca’s personality which could never remotely resemble your own. Who knows what elements of his psychology or his background twisted him into a villain? What matters is that _he_ could not be more different from _you._ ”

Michael finished the sentence standing in front of him, watching the stress fade from his face and realizing that providing him this comfort made her happy in a distinct way which only he brought out in her. 

Whatever reply he might have made was interrupted by the entrance of their Klingon allies, trailed by the trio of rebels and Tilly. “My new friends, I bring triumphant, resplendent news to you this day!” Ch’kisa’s booming voice made Michael wince. “After having all of their military assets destroyed by the Discovery’s attack on Qo’noS, one of the enemy Houses has agreed to meet with us. They are en route now, and I am preparing a great banquet to welcome them! No Klingon luxury which our meager estate may provide shall be omitted from the gathering.”

“This is wonderful news, Ch’kisa,” Lorca enthused, hardly believing his ears. Starfleet hadn’t had a break like this in what seemed like ages. “Please let us know how we can help.”

“If we can establish peaceful relations with this first House, they will likely stand with us against further aggression from the others,” Michael said excitedly, “And perhaps seeing the new alliance will influence any Houses who waver in their commitment to the war to join us as well.”

******************************************************************************

“No,” Michael insisted, shaking her head stubbornly as Tilly hovered over her with a make-up palette. “I don’t want eyeshadow.” 

“But it’s glittery!” Sylvia complained, “And it matches the purple of your dress to a tee. Please?”

“No,” Burnham repeated, “But thank you for everything else you’ve done, even if I do feel like a child playing dress-up.”

“You sure don’t look like one,” Tilly observed, very proud of her handiwork. “Look.” She turned Michael around by the shoulders so she could look in the full-length mirror which hung in her room back on the Elysium. They only had another hour to prepare before they were needed on the moon below for the banquet that would welcome their new guests.

Michael’s gaze coasted over her plum-colored dress, which had an off-the-shoulder cut and lace sleeves that ended at her elbows, the skirt landing just above her knees. She hadn’t often found cause to wear such attire in the past, and had to admit that doing so now felt oddly exhilarating. Giving voice to Michael’s line of thinking, Tilly said slyly, “I bet Captain Lorca is going to love this dress.”

“You’ve earned this eye-roll, so please enjoy it,” Michael replied with an accusing smile. “You look very nice as well.”

“Oh, this old thing?” Sylvia chirped with false humbleness. She checked herself out in the mirror, smoothing out the teal sequined dress she wore and winking at her reflection. “It’ll do.”

Lorca was adjusting the sleeves of his black button-down shirt when Burnham and Tilly arrived at the banquet. Michael watched him tugging nervously at the cuffs. Did he not realize how devastatingly handsome he looked? She wondered, meeting his awestruck gaze with a quivery smile. 

The House of defected Klingon warriors milled around, looking not entirely committed to the idea of this alliance, but basically forced to investigate the option as they had few others. 

“Do you think this is going to work?” Michael asked as she approached Lorca, glad there were other important subjects to discuss so that they could stay busy and not fall into the myriad temptations which the sensuous mood between them might otherwise compel.

“Too early to tell,” Gabriel replied. “But you know me, Michael. I’m an optimist. I want to believe in hope.”

“I want to believe, too,” Michael confessed, prompting them both to smile.

The boisterous Klingon music which had had Ch’kisa and Krah leading the assemblage in a traditional dance faded away into an Earth song. “May I have this dance, Specialist?” Lorca asked, the vulnerability in his voice despite his typically supple charm making Michael incapable of shooting him down.

“You may,” she agreed, drifting into his arms as they began to move to the ballad. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she felt carried away by the moment, this suggestive nearness to his strong, warm body. As her face hovered by his collar, the fresh, spicy scent there made her wonder if he was wearing cologne. It could not be aftershave, since his stubble remained, only making him look even better than he would clean-shaven, far better than an unavailable man should ever look.

He was going to ruin this by talking, she just knew it. Michael couldn’t help giving him a look that might have struck him silent if he was going to go with kneejerk obedience, but he raised his eyebrows, intrigued.

“You look like you want me to shut up, and I haven’t said a word,” he complained, his Southern accent traipsing over every syllable like a playful caress over her spine. 

“I’m just concerned that if we talk, we’ll argue, and then we won’t enjoy what is a…” She sighed again, sadly this time. “A lovely dance.”

He dropped his head down so that his mouth almost brushed her ear. “I don’t want to argue with you. I just feel like laying it on the line, if you’ll hear me out. No pressure, no expectations of _any_ thing from you, just a moment or so to unburden myself. Is that okay?”

It was far more than okay, which was the whole problem, but he knew that all too well and he still continued to torment her with his irresistibility. “If you must,” she allowed hesitantly.

“Well, then, here it is. If you want this to be more, it can be, Michael. No one would have to know, or everyone can know and I will happily deal with the consequences. It’s entirely up to you.” Lorca’s bold words, spoken in a hushed, intimate tone, had a heady effect on Michael. 

“You’d be willing to have your crew know that you’re in a romantic relationship with a criminal only allowed to be on said crew because she has certain skills and strategic knowledge relevant to a war which may soon be ending, meaning that I could very well be on my way to prison if everything we’re here to achieve should bear fruit?” Michael shook her head in disbelief, her words coming out robotically, out of obligation to keep him from making such a foolish mistake. To protect her heart from another shatter, knowing it might not be able to handle it again.

“Michael, they’d have to lock me up too if they ever thought they could do that to you,” Gabriel insisted. “After all you’ve done, after the risks you’ve taken, please. There’s no reason for you to fear that. I don’t believe it would ever be so much as a faint possibility, and even if it was, they’d have to go through me first.”

“You,” Michael said, her heart filled to bursting, “You are not like other Captains.”

“Is that a compliment or a criticism?” He murmured the question as his fingers stroked her back and she melted helplessly against him.

“I don’t know,” she admitted with a short laugh. 

“You don’t have to decide now. We can just be colleagues and friends, if that's what feels best to you. I’m fine with whatever you choose, but I just wanted you to be clear on how I feel before you do choose. And Michael, if there’s ever anything you need from me, it’s yours. Because _that_ is how I feel.”

Michael already knew her choice, and she realized now that in spite of everything, she’d always known. However, as she parted her lips to reply, tilting her head back slightly so that she would be able to watch his reaction, phaser fire filled the room and people started to hit the floor in panic.

Within seconds, Burnham and Lorca had their own phasers drawn, only to find themselves face to face with Ellen Landry and a large group of armed followers, all of them looking quite pleased with this development. 

Landry grinned fiendishly, looking straight at Michael. “So, my sweet, naive, deliciously doomed enemy,” she said wryly, though poison laced every word, “We meet again.”


	6. Bones to keep you braced through every angle of your pain

“Commander Landry, if your quarrel is with me, then you should let everyone else leave right now,” Michael suggested in her most logical, persuasive tone. 

Landry snorted with derisive laughter. “Cute. Well, I guess that’s always worth one try. Michael Burnham, the complete destruction of everything about this life which _you_ hold dear begins now. That means that the very last person I’ll ever harm is you. I’ll need you healthy and alert for everything you’re to witness. Shall we begin?”

“Is participation optional?” Lorca quipped as several of Landry’s companions seized his arms. “I seem to be getting seized a lot lately. Even more than usual.”

“I noticed the way you two were dancing when we arrived,” Ellen remarked slyly, clucking her tongue. “You should really be more careful to conceal your heart’s desires when you have a mortal enemy on the loose, Michael. We’ll start with this pathetic excuse for a Gabriel Lorca. I knew the _real_ one, and this—” She stepped closer to Gabriel, looking at him as one might a stray piece of garbage. “—this is a disgusting, simpering weakling by comparison. Still, I’m going to have fun slowly tearing him apart for your entertainment, Burnham. Take him away.”

“Don’t touch him!” Michael insisted, the demand ripping from her throat with an urgency that didn’t come close to fully expressing her horror. Two more of Landry’s minions fastened their rough hands hard around her arms, and the feeling of helplessness birthed a heavy, fierce rage inside her. The anger flashed in her eyes, making even Landry instinctively step back from Michael, though a mocking smile remained frozen on her lips.

“It’s okay, Michael, really. Don’t give her the satisfaction,” Lorca urged. It was so obvious how he was striving to stay calm for her sake that Michael died a little inside. 

“Oh, and there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you all night,” he added as he was dragged away.

Michael blinked tears back, her lips trembling as she kept her focus on his face, since that’s what he wanted her to do. To let the rest of this catastrophe fade, feeling again the solace of their connection so that it could see them through whatever followed. 

“That’s a hell of a dress,” Gabriel grinned, right before a hulking lackey knocked him out with a swift blow to the head, causing Michael to flinch. 

She swallowed back her sobs and made a new determination, exchanging glances with a clearly panicked Tilly. In Sylvia’s eyes, she saw her own resolve mirrored and they nodded, then instantly communicated the concept to the rebel team without words. They would stay strong. From the inside of this gut-wrenchingly inconvenient and ominous hostage scenario, they would find a way to stop Landry, get out alive, and preserve the peace they’d begun to forge with the Klingons. 

Michael couldn’t help the way her mind reverted to Gabriel’s stunning blue gaze and the sweet nervousness in his voice earlier when he’d said, “this could be more.” But that was okay, she knew. Because thinking about Lorca would keep her intact. Holding onto the concept, Michael didn’t even cry out when she received a harsh hit at the back of her head and stars pricked the blackness that flooded in.

*****************************************************************

She woke sometime later, her head aching and her sight needing a minute to adjust. Possible concussion, she pondered, but a very small one. She just had to move slow and she’d be fine. Michael glanced to the side and then broke with her own plan to take it easy when she realized that she was restrained. She jerked her wrists upward, finding that there was likely only one way to get out of this, and it wasn’t going to be fun.

However, she tried and failed repeatedly in her attempts, making her curse her own fear and pain threshold. Soon after, Lorca was thrown roughly into the room, his body slamming to the ground as he heaved a painful breath. Michael managed to sit up, staring down at him as he wheezed, his palms pressed to the floor and his eyes squeezed shut.

“Gabriel,” she said softly, heartbroken at the sight of his distress. He was shirtless, his body covered in bruises and scratches, and murderous thoughts against Landry sparked like brutal explosions in Michael’s mind.

“I’m fine,” he said weakly, looking up at her with that same irresistibly charming, reassuring smile. “And let’s get one thing clear.” He sat down and leaned an arm across one knee, his voice hoarse. “We know by now how meticulously ruthless Landry’s methods are, but—” He coughed and gave her a grin. “There’s nothing that could ever ruin the sight of you handcuffed to a bed.”

Michael rolled her eyes, laughing as tears hit her cheeks. “Get over here, you idiot,” she invited, and he stumbled to the bed, climbing up beside her. Lorca lifted her wrists, slipping his fingers beneath the steel to massage her sore skin. 

“I’m going to eviscerate that woman,” he growled, “Right before I throw her out into the void of space.”

“Not if I get to her first,” Michael winked, resting her head against his chest, a motion which was possible due to the careful way he’d positioned himself to take the pressure off her arm, give her someone to lean on. His skin was hot and sweaty, his heartbeat thankfully regular. “Was Landry there during the…” She couldn’t bring herself to say the word “torture,” but instead pressed a kiss to one of the darkening bruises on his burning skin. 

“She was,” Gabriel explained, “Unfortunately, this Ellen’s not really into monologuing. She’s more the random, vague comment-dropping sort of villain. But from what I could gather, when it comes to me and my team, she’s after more than just systematically torturing those you care for and ruining the alliance we’re working on. Landry wants information about rebel movement back in the Mirror Universe.”

“Meaning that her endgame is to get back home and overthrow whoever is currently leading the Empire. Taking out the rebels would give her a boost in that endeavor,” Michael guessed, wincing as Lorca ran a hand over her hair in what was intended to be a soothing touch. When his fingers landed on the spot where she’d been hit, he pulled away.

“Sorry,” he murmured, stroking her cheek instead.

“It’s fine, they didn’t hit me that hard,” she assured him tenderly. “Landry wouldn’t have wanted me badly hurt, she said so herself. How else am I going to watch her parade all of my wounded friends around? I can only imagine what treatment she’s got planned after that.”

“She’ll probably stick us all in those creepy-ass lightening booths of pain,” Lorca guessed.

“Except me. I get to watch. Well, I don’t _think_ so,” Michael snapped resentfully. 

“Hey, watch it,” he warned as she yanked at the cuffs again.

“Before you got here, I tried to break my hand to get out of them. I couldn’t make myself do it, though. Will you do it for me?” 

“Will I _break your hand_?” Lorca shook his head in frustration. “Of course not, Michael. Will you please stop being so maddeningly brave and prideful? You can fool all of them out there, but not me.”

“I’ll stop as soon as you do,” Michael countered. “Haven’t you been hiding how you feel the whole time you’ve been in here, masking it with bravado and quips to spare my feelings?”

“Fine, fine,” Lorca grumbled affectionately. He let his head fall back on the pillow, looked up at the rock ceiling and sighed, “ _Ouch._ ”

“Alright, let’s start thinking of another way out of this,” she mused. “Then when we get back to the ship, you can buy me several drinks.”

“Of anything but chech’tluth,” Gabriel put in, his leg resting comfortably against her own.

“Now, that’s just _true,_ ,” Michael agreed before they both burst into laughter.

“If anything happens to you or Tilly, or to my team, Michael, I don’t know what I’ll do. I’m not sure I can take another loss on my watch.” He closed his eyes against the traumatic thought, biting his lip as Michael’s fingers grazed his stubbled jawline. 

“We won’t let that come to pass, I promise you,” she whispered intensely. He nodded, trusting in her and in their formidableness when working together. 

“Strategically, I don’t know how we can get the upper hand on her. She’s got the numbers and the weapons. We didn’t even bring a knife to the gunfight by comparison. So, we’ll need to come at this more subtly. Since it stands to reason that she intends to draw out each of our torment as long as possible, we don’t have to worry about anyone dying until we leave here. Once she gets us back over in the mirror universe, there’s no telling how long anyone will last. Some people can just withstand more of the agony in those chambers than others.”

“So we need to lash back hard while she’s moving us,” Michael surmised. “How does she even intend to return to the MU, anyway? I’m amazed she was able to find an ion storm on such short notice the last time, however grateful I am that she did.”

“Are you flirting and planning our escape from captivity at the same time?” His voice was a low, rumbling purr that was almost enough to distract Michael from the urgent matters at hand.

“I do like to multitask,” Michael smiled coyly.

“I wouldn’t mind finding out all of the applications of that particular proclivity,” Gabriel murmured. He took a moment to ponder their situation again and added, “Panora. Or Kalandra. Either one of those systems will do nicely. They’re rocked by near-constant ion storms.”

“I prefer our chances of escape from a starship brig,” Michael replied, “We should wait until we’re onboard Landry’s ship or the Elysium, depending which she plans to use.”

“Agreed.” Lorca took several long, deep breaths. “I can’t keep my eyes open,” he admitted sheepishly. 

Michael could hear the rasping vibration in his chest as he drew air, making it obvious that he’d been punched repeatedly in the stomach by Landry’s people. She wanted so badly to cover his hard, shaking abdomen with fluttery kisses to ease his suffering and had never hated her restraints so powerfully. Yet she supposed it was one more item to add to the to-do list for later. 

“Then sleep. You’ll need your strength for what’s to come, and that’s the best way to get it back.” 

Lorca took her fingers and brought them to his lips. “Thank you. You know, you’re pretty good at taking care of me. Watch out, or I’ll get used to it.” Slumber pulled him under and he could say no more, so Michael just rested there with him until she began to dream of the happier times that lay ahead. 

“I hope so,” she murmured right before she drifted off.

*******************************************************************************

“Aw, Landry just had to go and choose the Elysium,” Gabriel gloated, looking at his fellow prisoners as if they’d just won the lottery. “Carried away by hubris and showing off her so-called power. Could have kept us in way easier if she’d thrown us in whatever junk heap she stole to get here. Instead, as I look around this cell, all I can think of to say is, sweet.”

Michael watched his eyes flickering intelligently over their confines. “Are you familiar with the inner workings of this brig, Captain?” Though she addressed him formally again, the easiness which had taken over their more personal bond shone through. 

“ _Really?_ ,” Tilly asked, staring at their besotted faces. “Get a room, you guys. Oh, uh, sorry, sir, no offense.” Her cheeks flushed as she remembered, in her exhausted state, that she was addressing her commanding officer.

“People are constantly saying that to me,” Lorca muttered. His voice rose again to standard volume as he replied smoothly, “Not a problem, Sylvia. Currently, I can assure you that I’m most focused in getting us all _out_ of this room. So yes, Michael, I am quite familiar. One of my nerdiest personal interests is the study of Starfleet vessels, inside and out.”

“Thank goodness,” Vravi sighed. “I mean, we wanted to get back to our universe, but not like this, not to be collateral damage in Landry’s vendetta against Specialist Burnham. You must have really pissed her off, huh?”

Michael shrugged. “I was party to the murder of her Captain, for whom I’m fairly sure she had romantic feelings. Those tend to be rather predatory for the Terrans, leaving a deadly aftertaste when things go awry. Plus, without Mirror Lorca’s protection, Landry and her faction would have been easy prey during the doubtless barbaric war for power that would have erupted shortly after the Emperor disappeared and Lorca’s demise was confirmed.”

“So, yes, in other words,” Tsann said in a deadpan manner that revealed she was not at all unamused by the explanation. “Well, sir, let’s see what you’ve got.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Lorca agreed, plucking his now-tattered black shirt away from the sore skin of his torso. “Computer, activate emergency evacuation protocol. Authorization, Captain Gabriel Lorca, command code Alpha-Delta-eight-nine-six.”

The computer’s voice chirped back brightly, “Authorization denied on the grounds that there exists no pressing medical emergency necessitating the release of prisoners from this cell.”

“Cell this from prisoners of release the necessitating emergency medical pressing no exists there that grounds the on denied Authorization, Lorca-Alpha-Delta-eight-nine-six,” Gabriel replied in a pleasant, conversational and brisk voice. 

Everyone looked at him in confusion, but the barely perceptible sheen of the force-field which trapped them within the cramped room shuddered and vanished. “Ah, there we go,” Lorca added. He waved his hand outward. “Shall we?”

“We shall,” Michael grinned, leading the way. “Computer, this is Specialist Michael Burnham. We are in the midst of a hostile take-over. You are hereby ordered to immediately return all command authority to Captain Gabriel Lorca. I think you remember the command code.”

“Command restored to Captain Lorca,” the computer said amiably. 

“Wonderful. Go to yellow alert.” He strode confidently towards the bridge, the others following in surprise.

“Yellow alert? I’m fairly certain that Commander Landry will expect our arrival long before we get down this corridor and up the turbolift to knock her on her deplorable behind,” Helvitt worried.

“The time for subtlety is passed. Let her know we’re coming. It’s her turn to be afraid of what’s coming next,” Lorca answered, unconcerned.

“Welcome,” Landry smiled chillingly as they stepped onto the bridge, phasers drawn. “Like what I’ve done with the place?” The Starfleet officers looked around at the Terran emblems which had been slapped onto every console, plus the menacing faces of Landry’s followers as they stared them down.

“I think it sucks, personally, is that just me?” Tilly asked, glancing at her companions.

“No, I think that covers it,” Gabriel replied. “Anyway, Michael, would you and Tsann mind showing these revolting specimens of racist scum down to the brig? Let’s see how _they_ like being stuffed into a tin-can. And we'll keep it especially well-guarded this time.”

“Let’s go,” Michael snapped at Landry, holding back her rage towards the woman by the thinnest of restraints. 

The computer’s voice chimed in again, announcing an emergency self-destruct sequence. “You’re not the only ones who know how to hack a starship,” Landry bragged, but Lorca merely rolled his eyes as Burnham sighed in annoyance.

“Computer, halt the emergency self-destruct immediately,” Michael demanded.

“I am unable to comply due to new restrictions, exceeding your own control over the ship, which have been placed on the system by Commander Landry,” the computer answered blithely. 

Landry pointed at a young man who sat looking smug at the helm. “Actually, _he_ placed the new restrictions. Just don’t ask me what his name is. We’re about to blow, Starfleet. Come with us if you want to live.”

“Honestly,” Vravi mumbled, striding forward to the helmsman’s console and rolling his chair away with him in it, annoyance oozing from her pores. She drew a small disc from her pocket and inserted it into the console, then began typing so quickly that her fingers almost blurred. 

“Emergency shut-down protocol cancelled,” the computer pronounced.

“Shit,” Landry remarked, not having counted on Vravi’s special skill set. 

“Yeah, that’s right,” Lorca replied, backing Landry into the wall and glaring at her, his posture and the fury in his eyes so imposing that she gulped, though he never laid a finger on her. “Shit. Get down to the brig, Landry, and get _used_ to rotting in a cell. I’m going to personally ensure that you get no mercy from what is admittedly a remarkably merciful organization. Even within Starfleet, there are prison stations that are simply so much worse than the others, it defies belief. That’s where you’ll be going. Now haul ass.” He stepped back and Landry spat at him, prompting a chuckle as he evaded it. “That all you got left?”

Michael jabbed her phaser in the soft space between Landry’s shoulder blades, causing the woman to cry out. “Be grateful that I like my job,” Burnham muttered darkly, using the brunt of her weapon to shove Landry into the turbolift as the other criminals were ushered in by Tsann.

“So, what now, sir?” Tilly asked as the doors slid shut and Gabriel turned back to face the viewscreen. The moon stood outside, occupied by some very terrified Klingon rebels and a group of defectors from the war who probably assumed that the peace meetings had been some kind of trap set up by Starfleet to take out one of their Houses. Slowly circling the deceptively tranquil-looking orb was the small trading vessel stolen by Landry when she escaped from the starbase on which she’d been held. 

“Now, Sylvia, you get down to the surface with Vravi and Helvitt. Reason with the Klingons, make them see that we were for real, that we have no affiliation with Landry’s lunacy. Bring a security team, or three. Oh, yeah.” He coughed lightly as he remembered other necessities, still fighting off wooziness from his ordeal of being savagely beaten mere hours before. 

Swallowing against a raw, dry, nagging soreness in his throat and resting his hand on his bruised stomach, Lorca called, “Computer, release all crew members of the Elysium who were confined to quarters by Landry’s group. Send three security teams to the transporter room. Patch me through to the ship-wide comms.” As soon as his voice could be heard throughout the ship, Lorca recapped the situation as the crew left their confines, hurrying back to their duties.

“Sir, I think you should get to sickbay,” Tilly advised as she prepared to depart for the transporter room. 

“Now, how many times do I have to tell you people to call me Gabriel?” Lorca inquired jovially, just as he realized that there was a harsh, awful spasm of pain radiating through his skull. His vision blurred slightly. Wait, had that feeling been there all along, shoved aside by his ever-indomitable, adrenaline-fueled insistence on winning the day? 

_Guess so,_ he surmised as he slid from the Captain’s chair and his feverish cheek hit the cold floor.

***************************************************************************

The remaining peace talks passed without interruption and in a resoundingly positive vein, successfully eroding whatever remaining hesitance remained on the part of the newly recruited House Mur’Eq. One House down, twenty-three to go.

Admiral Cornwell and Ambassador Sarek were ready to take over from Captain Lorca’s team in continuing Federation-Klingon negotiations. After the battle on Qo’noS, they’d had no viable options but to allow their war prisoner, L’Rell, to take control of the Klingon Empire. She was a far cry from trustworthy, and should by rights be locked up for many years due to her treatment of Tyler, but at least she wished to end the war. At least under L’Rell’s leadership, the twenty-four houses could unite and look to a future not entirely motivated by anti-Federation furor. It was the lesser of every evil which the situation presented. Compromises would continue to build until a sturdier cessation of conflict was reached. For now, at least, most everyone could breathe again. 

After Gabriel spent some time getting patched up in Sick Bay, Burnham, Lorca and Tilly returned to the Discovery, where Stamets had restored the spore drive to maximum efficiency. Although the Federation had decreed that a non-human source would be required for future mycelium journeys, Paul had been willing to help bring Tsann, Vravi, and Helvett back to their universe. 

“I want to say so much to the three of you, and yet, there are no words that can truly express how I feel,” Lorca said, enfolding his rebel team into a group hug.

“We share the sentiment, although I am obliged to behave in a stoic manner. Deep inside, I feel I shall miss you, Captain,” Helvitt replied in a stilted way that showed his affection for Lorca actually wasn’t buried _quite_ so deeply.

“I would say ‘don’t be a stranger,’ but it’s so hard to predict when we may meet again,” Tsann pondered, a little sadly. 

“Well, indeed, who knows?” Vravi reasoned. “Starfleet could come up with a better way to travel between universes, and it could become more of a frequent thing. For those who are trustworthy enough to handle it without being driven mad by all the potential complications of meeting an alternate version of themselves or a lost loved one, et cetera. Kind of an exclusive club, huh? It’s not ever gonna happen is it? Oh, sir!” 

“It’s alright, Vravi, have a little faith,” Gabriel encouraged. “It’s a big multiverse and honestly, you never do know when fate is going to cross your paths with the people who will shape your destiny. That very rule is how I met all of you in the first place.” He caught Michael’s eye over his friends’ shoulders and smiled meaningfully.

“I’m definitely _not_ going to miss the eye-ache-inducing light over here,” Vravi admitted, trying to distract herself from her melancholy at being parted for possibly always from the Captain. She blinked and at patted her eyelids in a dainty, diva-ish manner, making the others laugh.

“No, that is for certain,” Tsann put in. “But we will miss all of you, dearly,” she added, reaching a hand out as Vravi did the same on her side, pulling Burnham and Tilly into the hug as well.

“You okay?” Michael asked Gabriel after they returned from their extremely short trip to the MU. She clasped her hands behind her back as they strolled down the corridor, finding that the pose was almost necessary to avoid slipping her hand into his in front of the crew-mates bustling by all around them.

“I will be,” he answered, pausing with her when they reached the doors to her quarters. “So, I’ll see you first thing in the morning on the bridge. We should have arrived at Earth by then. I have a feeling there will be promotions and commendations galore for this brave crew now that the war is over.”

“I’m not sure where I’m going to end up,” Michael sighed. “I hope it’s here.”

“Me, too,” Lorca assured her, nodding to show his near-certainty in the matter, but also his support and insistence on standing up for her if it was needed. “Tired?”

What did he mean by that? Michael didn’t know what to do with herself as her nervousness surged out of control. Did he want to come in? Should she ask him to? Would they be damaging both of their careers, or at least what was left of hers, by taking their relationship to the next level?

“I, I,” She stammered, her searching gaze landing on his kind, curious, subtly amused smile. It wasn’t a mocking amusement; it was pure, devoted affection, washing over Michael until she had to remind herself that she was supposed to be answering the damn question. “A bit tired. Sir.” _What? Why did I say that?_ Michael watched as his face fell.

“Okay, then,” he said a little too loudly, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” she replied with a wavering smile, stepping into her quarters with the distinct desire to scream in half-happy, half-frustrated confusion.

********************************************************************

“These _are_ the Captain’s Quarters,” Lt. Stamets said as he ushered Lorca into the larger rooms which were reserved for Discovery’s commanding officer. “It’s time you made them yours. Don’t worry, we changed the sheets.”

“It’s far too soon for that joke, Paul,” Lorca snipped, looking around at the pompously militant array of decor with which his Mirror self had adorned the chambers. “Uh, do you have, just like a really big box of some kind? Because this all has to go. Let’s just take it back to basics for now.”

“There’s one right over there. We kind of thought you might feel that way, Sir. Surely you wouldn’t want to be entertaining any…” Stamets cleared his throat. “…social callers with the Evil Lorca’s questionable design scheme still in place. What is that, a collection of Sehlat fangs?” Paul raised his eyebrows even further, peeking around the corner to the bedroom. “There’s a Targ-skin rug in there.”

Lorca sighed heavily and began placing ridiculous items into the box, glad to have the place restored to some semblance of normalcy. Stamets was right, if Michael ever did visit him in his quarters, it would have been mortifying to try and flirt with her among these obnoxious nick-knacks.

_Cheer up, Gabriel. You know that can’t really be an “if.” It’s gotta be a “when.” She feels the same, it’s just…duty standing in the way. Right?_

“Right,” Lorca muttered, unconvinced. 

“Better get rid of these,” Paul suggested, depositing a taxidermied vole into the box with carefully pinched fingers. “So gross.” He noticed that the Captain was lost in thought, a wistful look lingering on his face. 

“Anyway,” Stamets continued, “You know that whole conversation we’d probably have now, where I tell you that I’m sure it’ll all work out fine for you and Specialist Burnham? You would say that it’s against regulations and there’s no sure way to proceed without endangering your jobs. I’d say, life is too damn short to delay being with the person you love, and believe me, I know.” The pain in his habitually cynical eyes made Lorca’s heart again go out to the man, given what had happened to Dr. Culber before his own arrival.

“Paul,” Gabriel began, wanting to offer some words of comfort and express gratitude for the advice regarding Michael, but Stamets shook his head, walking to the door.

“I said,” Stamets repeated, “Do you know that whole conversation we probably _would_ have. So can we pretend we already had it? Okay, cool.” Lorca nodded with an understanding smile. “Goodnight, Captain.”

“Goodnight,” Gabriel replied, walking to the replicator. “Whiskey, neat,” he requested, taking the glass and swirling the dark liquid pensively. It looked like he’d have plenty of time to go over Discovery’s logs, brush up on his new crew’s stats, and try hard not to feel lonely and sorry for himself.

But he’d only been studying the archived data for about an hour when a merry chirrup announced that he had another visitor. Lorca glanced at the time displayed on the screen he’d been poring over and found that it had gotten late by now.

“Come,” Lorca said carelessly, expecting perhaps Commander Saru with some last-minute directive about the morning’s conference and ceremonies at Starfleet Command. He shot out of his chair, almost knocking his drink over, when he saw Michael step into the room. 

They stared at each other almost pleadingly for another moment, waiting for the door to close, before Gabriel walked straight up to Michael, cupped her face in his hands and kissed her lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Thanks to TheBlackPrince for the idea of Stamets showing Prime!Lorca the Mirror!Lorca's man-cave.
> 
> *I noticed that in 1x15, Emperor Georgiou had a similar line to one I'd written for Mirror!Landry, "worth a try." I guess corrupt divas just have similar quips, lol!!
> 
> *Thought I would also parallel Lorca's prison break skills with Michael's own from 1x02. The couple that can each trick a ship's computer into freeing them from the brig stays together, I always say...


	7. Just don't let go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, there's plenty of smut and fluffiness in this chapter.

Gabriel Lorca was one hell of a kisser, Michael realized dizzily. She leaned up against the heated curve of his lips just as he slid his tongue against hers. Shuddering, she parted her lips so that he could taste her more deeply, one of his strong hands firmly planted at the back of her head, the other at the small of her back, crushing her against him. 

_And this all started so innocently…_

But just a few light brushes of their mouths had been all it took to ensure their patience had officially reached its breaking point. Michael gave a low moan, pressing even closer against his solid chest, her fingers roving over the hard lines of his muscled arms. Undeniably inspired, she stepped back just enough to lift his snug-fitting black t-shirt over his head, and he shot her a look that she felt all the way down her spine. She looked down at the waistband of his soft grey lounge trousers, pleased to find she had no buttons or zippers to contend with, and pulled them off right before he grabbed her around the waist and hoisted her onto the bed, laying another scorching kiss against her lips. 

Gabriel lay between her hips, prompting Michael to grasp his behind over his black boxer briefs. His erection ground against her core and Lorca groaned, repeating the motion several more times until Michael’s head tipped back against the pillow, her eyes closing as her hips thrust upwards to match his rhythm. She slipped two fingers into each side of his underwear in order to lower them, but Gabriel stilled her hands, shaking his head. 

“Not yet,” he demanded, instead beginning to even the levels of nudity between them. Finding the zipper at the top of her uniform, he eased it down, kissing her neck as he exposed more and more of it, biting down lightly on the soft space where it met her shoulder. She tightened her hold on his ass in retaliation, moving her craving-drenched center against his rigid arousal, which caused him to growl even as she lost her breath in enjoyment of it all —the urgent sounds he made, the pleasure he’d already given her when they had only traipsed over a few of the first bases.

Gabriel helped her to sit up so that he could pull off her top, then took a moment to stare at her as she breathed shakily, watching his eyes taking in the supple curves of her cleavage, the smooth lines of her toned abdomen. She wore a plain enough white cotton bra with matching panties, but he looked at her as though she was decked out in extravagant lingerie.

“You’re so beautiful,” he sighed, thumbs tracing the tops of her breasts. Michael couldn’t bear the powerful need in his bright gaze for another instant before she pulled off the bra, then slid him against her again, kissing his whiskey-flavored mouth with another helpless moan. 

He cupped her breasts in his slightly callused hands, the roughened texture feeling so exquisite that her nipples hardened even more. Michael realized that it only stood to reason that Gabriel would have worker's hands, given that he’d spent the morning on his back in engineering, assisting with repairs. She recalled the easy grin on his face when he’d whipped out from underneath a panel he’d been fusing back into place. 

“What in the world are you doing, Captain?” Michael had asked, playfully bemused.

“I like to pitch in and help whenever possible,” he’d answered, rubbing perspiration from his lip with the back of his hand. “Can’t ever let myself become too lofty to get my hands dirty alongside my crew.”

She had been able to tell that he was enjoying her admiration of his half-reclined body as he continued implementing the repairs, so she just gave a short, restrained smile that spoke volumes before she sashayed off, feeling his eyes as they followed her figure out the door.

There had been so many tiny moments of wanting each other since the first moment they’d met, all culminating now as they gave into their passion with a sharp, yet fluid inevitability which just couldn’t possibly feel anything but right. 

Later, Michael nestled happily against Lorca, then gave a slight shiver. The ship’s environmental settings had the air conditioning on low, but it still felt a bit chilly in the Captain’s quarters. 

“We’re all tangled up,” he murmured in that rumbling drawl which in a post-coital setting took on a while new level of sexiness. He reached down and pulled the sheets from their intertwined limbs, then lifted them to cover Michael’s shoulders before massaging her back for added warmth. “That better?”

“Yes, thank you,” she sighed contentedly, her legs still tingling and her mind thrumming with impossibly high levels of blissfulness that felt downright narcotic. Unable to resist the temptation, Michael allowed herself to play back the memories of lovemaking from the last hour and her cheeks immediately flushed while she bit down on her lip, writhing slightly as Lorca pressed his forehead to hers, watching her in fascination.

She thought of his mouth against her throbbing center, hands clutching her thighs as she cried out, grinding her palms into the sheets….then the hot, rock-hard fullness of him inside her, beginning to slide in and out until she couldn’t help grabbing his back, urging him deeper, faster… 

Amazed, Michael felt unable to fully believe what had just occurred. _And considering how long it went on for, I’m surprised I didn’t have a chance to let the reality sink in._

“Just what are you thinking about that’s got you all in a tizzy, distracting me right out of my mind? If I may be so bold as to inquire, that is,” Lorca asked teasingly. She brushed her fingers lingeringly against his chest and laughed softly.

“It’s just…you were…you’re— _bossy,_ ” Michael recalled. Amused, he shrugged and opened his mouth for a smart retort, but she stilled his lips with her finger. “And don’t you dare say something like, ‘well, I _am_ the Captain,’” she warned, imitating his accent until Lorca chuckled.

“What? I am,” he defended himself guilelessly, but then a hint of self-consciousness crept into his tone. “Bossy in….a good way, or a bad way?” 

Michael giggled and sank beneath the sheets until her head was covered, answering in an explosion of bashful happiness, “Good….good… _so_ very good!” 

_Where is the endlessly logical, calm Michael Burnham now? Someone send out a search party._ It felt _amazing,_ simply to let loose and be honest, free, even silly-honest. Why not, after all? She squealed in delight and Lorca delved down to find her, causing the sheets to rumple upward in a gust of air. 

“That’s a relief,” he admitted with a boyish grin, kissing her lips with slow, savoring attention, no less than he had shown the very first time he’d done so. 

“What about me?” she asked, curiosity piquing her to hyperawareness. Michael knew that she’d never felt like this with Ash, never had an encounter so intense with anyone, and as she’d fallen headlong into bed with Gabriel, lost and found under his touch, her own movements now seemed almost like a blur of increasingly insistent, dazedly ecstatic responses.

“You, Michael?” Lorca traced her collarbone, then the curve of her shoulder, running his hand over her arm and then very gradually across the quickening breath at her abdomen, where he paused. “You’re a dream come true. I’m having trouble completely believing this is even real, but if you feel the same, that’s immensely reassuring. Because, you know, I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you.”

A new heat gripped her heart and Michael stared up at him in momentary astonishment, before she absolutely had to call him on his wording. “You’re _pretty sure_? Is that the best you can do for a declaration of love?”

“Why, do you think you can do better?” Gabriel asked, seeing the joy glimmering in her dark eyes and feeling certain he hadn’t disappointed her in the least with his instinctually blurted confession.

“Yes. I love you.” Michael smiled gently, stroking his cheekbones and then running her hand through his soft brown hair, entranced by the vulnerability in his expression.

“I love you, too,” he said intently.

“Exactly,” she murmured confusedly, “So why aren’t I terrified? This happened so quickly between us.” Listening thoughtfully, Gabriel laced all of his fingers through hers, which only served to make the simply natural and surreally easy connection between them more closely felt. “And we, we just _let_ it.”

“We’re being reckless,” Lorca acknowledged, “I know that. Yet…Michael, when I hold your hands in mine, when I take you in my arms, it isn’t just that it feels utterly right, which it does. It’s that it feels like we are _meant_ to be together. And I’ve never felt that with anyone. Now, that’s damn addictive, and I sure as hell don’t want to let go now.”

“Neither do I,” Michael confessed. “You were certainly right when you told Vravi that we never know why certain people are fated to cross our paths and how they may end up changing our lives forever.”

“Forever,” Lorca repeated pensively. The word didn’t seem to bother him in the least. “When we’re here,” he said with a short laugh at his own wistfulness, “Doesn’t it feel like the rest of the universe just disappeared?”

She glanced up at the sheets that covered them, creating their own little world, and kissed his mouth, softly at first, and then with abandon as his arms went tightly around her bare torso. 

_It does, and for that matter…it’s felt like that every time we’ve looked into each other’s eyes since we met. When that happens, it’s just the two of us, always._

The next morning, in one way or perhaps several, things were going to change. The war was over, Starfleet would be adjusting its future goals, and Discovery would have her own role to play in that. For all Michael knew, she could be sent back to prison, reassigned to another ship, or exiled back to Vulcan under house arrest. 

Regulations aside, there were myriad reasons why her romance with Lorca might be doomed. But for now, in this perfect haven of togetherness with Gabriel, Michael had no difficulty in saving their worries for tomorrow.

********************************************************************************  
Michael sighed in reluctant acceptance of the new day as the alarm went off at an offensively early hour the following morning. Stretching, she let consciousness drift back gradually, until a distinct smell of chocolate and caffeine enticed her and she opened her eyes. Gabriel was gone, but on his pillow he’d left a single red rose, a chocolate croissant, and a note. _Meet me downstairs_ , it read, with a room specified on Deck 8. She broke into an enormous smile when she saw that he’d signed it, _Love, Gabriel._ If there was anything Michael had learned over the last year, it was that the little things mattered the most.

He’d thought of everything, even leaving a steaming mug of coffee and a cold orange juice on the glass-topped bedside table, but Michael wished he was still there. As Captain, of course, he had to be up and about his duties at the same time that the skeleton crew from the overnight shift were bedding down for the morning. Knowing that she had a big day ahead of her, she still took the time to let the situation sink in, sitting there in his bed with the sheets tucked up around her breasts, her back propped up against the pillows that smelled like him. It was a special kind of semi-forbidden bliss, enjoying a breakfast under such circumstances. She was trusted within his personal space alone, without question, left to consider it very much her space as well. The inherent message in the way he’d let her sleep and set things up for her awakening was crystal clear to Michael. In fact, she had a hard time imagining an outcome of this day that could truly ruin the happy feeling that sang through her veins.

Doppelgangers aside, this Gabriel Lorca really was one of a kind.

Michael took a quick shower, then felt another rush of satisfaction when she found that Lorca already had a toothbrush in his bathroom there for her, propped next to his own so casually. She wiped the steam from the mirror, startled by her own reflection. 

“I’ve…changed,” she smiled in slight awe. The tension that seemed to always hold her posture a little too stiffly had loosened until her shoulders rested comfortably. Her eyes sparkled brightly and her skin seemed to be glowing. Michael let her smile grow again into a grin, over which she slid her new toothbrush with merriment such as a dental tool didn’t normally provoke.

****************************************************************

“Good morning,” Michael said with significant emphasis as she strode into the room which had been appropriately dubbed the Mirror Lorca’s “man cave” by Harry Mudd. 

Indeed, she reflected, their former Captain had spread his collection of unseemly war-themed paraphernalia across several different chambers onboard the Discovery. Michael’s only surprise was at seeing that her Lorca had opted to leave this particular collection intact. After all, he had completely reclaimed his quarters and the ready room as his own. 

“I wish I could say I love what you’ve done with the place, but…” She crinkled her nose and Lorca laughed, her arrival having shaken him out of a deep reverie.

“Good morning, baby,” Lorca greeted her in a low intonation, leaning down to kiss her and then pausing when he saw her eyes grow wide at the pet name. “Do you mind that?”

Michael grabbed his face and kissed him deeply, wrapping her arms around him as he unhesitatingly melted into the embrace, his lips warm and welcoming. They had to each hold themselves back from letting the kiss turn from warm to hot, though it came perilously close before they pulled away.

“I do _not_ mind,” she said breathily, enjoying his captivated, gratified look in response. “But before we get carried away by — ahem — _other matters_ with so little time to spare, I should really ask why you called me to this very strange and regrettable room.”

“I brought you here because of what you said last night. About being afraid that your past mistakes would still be held against you by Starfleet, that you might not get to remain on the Discovery. I understand that the Battle of the Binary Stars hangs on your conscience similar to the way the Buran does for me. And that’s probably unavoidable, or at least it feels like it, huh?” 

Michael nodded. “So how does a Gorn skeleton play into all of this personal reflection?” Although there was gallows humor in the question, her tone was also quiet and sensitive, as well as again very curious.

“This place,” Gabriel elaborated, putting his arms out to gesture around at the weaponry, “Is a reminder to me that another version of Gabriel Lorca was an out-of-control, selfish hot-head so hell-bent on gaining power for himself that he was willing to espouse a truly evil philosophy and way of living. If there’s even one iota of me that’s like him, I need to be self-aware on a downright paranoid level for the rest of my days. Check in with myself at every major decision and turning point to make sure my values are fully intact. And I plan to. So, Michael, we all have our ghosts. It’s up to us to acknowledge them and see them for what they truly are, _who_ they truly are, at times. What they tell us about who _we_ are. But we can’t let the fear of those ghosts consume us.”

“Wise words,” Michael pointed out tenderly, appreciatively. “You’re quite a Captain, Captain.”

“You taught me how to start moving on with your example of grace and dignity, your unbelievable kindness and ability to care for others even as your own life was being torn asunder. I’m just trying to build on what I’ve gained from _your_ wisdom, Michael, and remind you that you should walk in there today with the utmost pride in knowing that you have served Starfleet during this war with astonishing bravery and unquestionable ethics. Be proud of yourself.” Lorca glanced at her fondly and added, “Okay?”

“Okay,” she agreed, kissing him just one more time. She took Gabriel gently by the shoulders and stared up into his eyes. “Thank you.” As she slipped her arm through his on the way to the door, knowing they must drop the physical contact within a mere few steps, Michael couldn’t help leaning against him and whispering, “say it again.”

“Baby,” Lorca repeated with a grin, causing Michael to squeeze his arm with a jubilant laugh just before they stepped apart and the doors slid open.

****************************************************************************

As Sarek spoke quietly with Michael outside Starfleet Headquarters that evening, Lorca watched from across the street, trying not to act like what Paul Stamets referred to as a “lurker.” Absent of an umbrella, he hovered under the nearest awning, anxiously glancing back and forth between the conversation he observed and random swatches of people passing by. 

_Okay, well, I’m definitely lurking._

But how could he help being on pins and needles wondering how Starfleet had decided to deal with the formally notorious mutineer turned indisputable hero? And surely her adoptive father would have that information, must be imparting it now…Lorca started pacing, which was making him a downright _obvious_ lurker. 

Given his present behavior, one would have never guessed that Gabriel came up in his early years after the Academy doing covert ops, slipping in and out of primitive new worlds without ever violating General Order One. It was a speciality of his on which he’d prided himself, his clever ability to blend in despite any variance of the new scenarios he encountered. Exploring, seeking out new worlds with an unending hunger for the magical unraveling of previously unimagined cultures and adventures, it was what fired his ambitions. Back then, he’d been dead-set on loyalty to career above all else. His attitude towards romance was “if it happens, great.” So perhaps with such a low amount of commitment to the subject, it was no wonder that he hadn’t managed to put down roots up till now.

_I’m rooted now, tied to Michael’s destiny so tightly it’s a damn good thing I wouldn’t have it any other way._

With baited breath, Gabriel saw the bright berry burst of Michael’s lips lifting into a cautious, astonished smile. He saw Sarek placing her commander’s badge back on her uniform and felt most of his anxiety ebbing away. She’d earned that rank back and then some, and if Starfleet had insisted on withholding it, treating her as a prisoner, he’d been amped up and ready to intercede. 

After some quiet chatter with Sarek, Michael crossed the street, obviously having noticed Gabriel’s presence. 

_No one oughta look that good in a Science Division Starfleet Uniform._ The plain cornflower garment was a stretchy second skin that had occasioned many an officer to groan in frustration at its unflattering nature. Yet on Michael, it looked like high fashion, snugly fitted to her lovely curves, the gold emblems bringing out amber beams in her deep, ever-brilliant eyes. 

“Congratulations,” he gushed as their hands itched to touch, fingers fidgeting by their sides. “You know I really want to sweep you into the world’s biggest hug right now.”

“Any chance we can get a little alone time?” Michael inquired, making his heart jump. “Perhaps after the ceremony.”

“Yeah,” Lorca agreed warmly, “I’d love that.” Despite their unspoken agreement to keep their personal relationship a secret until they had a chance to feel the situation out, he thought that no one who happened to look their way right this second could have failed to notice that he was absolutely crazy about Michael Burnham.

**************************************************************************

“He would have been proud of you, too, you know,” Gabriel remarked as he slid onto a barstool beside Paul Stamets at the reception following the awards ceremony.

The atmosphere in the dimly lit, vintage Paris bar was one of rejuvenation. Groups of Starfleet officers filled the place with their upbeat chatter, infused with relief that the war was over, a sense of accomplishment tempered by sensible realizations of all that was lost and how challenging it could well be to maintain the peace they had achieved. Polished cherrywood surfaces gleamed under the warm lamplight as rain spattered the windows. Across the room, Lorca glanced at Michael and saw her wedged between Tilly, Owosekun and Detmer, all four women trying not to spill their cocktails as people squeezed past them in the packed pub. They were smiling, immersed in convivial conversation, something which in turn put a smile on Gabriel's face. Michael noticed that he'd made the effort to sit beside the solitary, pensive Stamets and gave him a subtle nod of approval.

Nodding down at Hugh Culber’s medal, which Paul was still caressing thoughtfully as he nursed his drink, he then glanced at Paul’s own new badge and added, “Congratulations, Lieutenant-Commander Stamets.”

Paul rolled his eyes and chuckled. “Thanks. Goddammit, you know you’re almost impossible to dislike, Captain? Here I am, a complete emotional wreck wanting to talk to absolutely _nobody_ , and yet I cannot seem to summon a single harsh remark to tell you to get lost.”

“Uh, thank you?” Lorca replied, beckoning to the bartender so that he could order a whiskey. 

“It’s annoying,” Paul added. He sighed, swishing the ice in his gin and tonic. “I don’t even like gin. I just wanted to order something I wouldn’t drink until I got drunk.”

“That’s understandable. You’re going through a lot right now. It’s a strange mixture of emotions, going from the most excruciating personal loss to the most inspiring victory, finding a family among a new crew in the midst of insane crises that no one _outside_ of that group could possibly grasp the intensity of.” Lorca sipped his drink, realizing how much he still had to learn about how _he_ was going to process the maelstrom of emotional extremes from which they had just emerged. The new normal he saw ahead of him held so much promise that he did know he would not shrink back from it.

“They’d be proud of you too, you know,” Paul smiled. “The crew of the Buran.”

“I hope to God that’s true,” Lorca reflected, “I feel like it’s my job every day to make sure I do all I can to live up to that. If I’m all that’s left of them, I have to carry on in their honor, be everything they looked to me to be.”

“I know what you mean,” Stamets nodded, gripping Culber's medal tighter. Then he glanced across the room at a small group of high-ranking officers and added, “So, have you heard the news?”

Lorca’s eyes followed Stamet’s until he noticed someone unfamiliar conversing with Sarek and Katrina. A tall, thirty-something blonde human woman, she bore a polished and elegant appearance. “There’s _more_ news?”

“I think they’re going to head over here any minute to fill you in. I only know because Ensign Tilly overhears pretty much every word of gossip and whispers it to me despite my repeated assurances that I do not care and never will care. Anyway, that woman’s name is Counselor Daphne Becker. Admiral Cornwell has seen to it that she’s been added to the Discovery’s crew compliment in order to oversee an extensive psych eval on the whole ship’s population. I can't _wait._ ” Paul took a swig of his drink and made a sour face at the flavor. “That’s awful. I’ll see you later.”

“Goodnight, Paul,” Lorca mumbled, distracted by this revelation. He saw Kat leading Counselor Becker his way and felt sure he was about to be updated on the plan. Well, it was only rational of the Admiral to want to make sure a crew so recently traumatized was psychologically healthy and functional. It was best that everyone had the help they might need to recover, even as they set off on new missions. Tomorrow, they were heading off for Vulcan, and afterwards, back out on science scouting endeavors, continuing to develop new technologies in accordance with the Discovery’s original mission statement. They would have the time now to follow up with the Counselor and, as a group, even out, become whole again, heal.

All in all, Gabriel found that he was in favor of the Counselor’s presence on his ship, especially since Kat would never have selected anyone but the best possible person for such a job. Still, as he thought about his remarkable and undoubtedly quirky crew, he had to admit that she probably had her work cut out for her.

_At the very least, this is going to be quite interesting._


	8. Keep my secrets, hope to die

Lorca had to flatten himself against the doorway as Stamets went storming out of Counselor Becker’s office, and he cast his newest crew member a questioning glance.

Becker sighed, adjusting the oversized, thick-lensed glasses that sat in front of vibrant lime green eyes fringed by long blonde lashes. With her intelligent look, high cheekbones and balletic figure, anyone could have been forgiven for expecting the Counselor to convey a sophisticated, highly academic persona. But that’s where they would have been wrong.

“Bloody everlasting hell!” Becker complained in a thick accent which Gabriel estimated to be derived from the Northern region of England back on Earth. She laid both hands around her neck and began rotating her head, administering a small massage as if stress had her whole body in near-atrophy. “What a first day I’m having.” 

Becker looked at the Captain’s bemused face and adjusted her attitude, sitting up straight and running a hand over her sleek updo. “I’m sorry for that unprofessional greeting, Captain, but to be honest with you, it’s been a wringer. This morning, I had an Ensign sit in here telling me her whole life story, leaving absolutely no detail to the imagination, not letting me get one word in edgewise. By the time her forty minutes were up, she requested to stay longer, since she’d only got up to the memories of her fourth birthday party.”

A smile tugged at Lorca’s mouth. He had a feeling he knew a certain bubbly, effusive young redheaded officer who could be quite capable of such behavior.

“Then that Lt. Stamets comes storming in here, and he sits right across from me for the entire time saying nothing at all, refusing to even make eye contact, and when time’s up, he glares at me and says ‘Are you happy now, you evil leprechaun?’ And well, you saw the rest.”

Although Gabriel opened his mouth to reply, Becker wasn’t finished yet. “I’m not even Irish, you know! I’m from Yorkshire!”

He laughed then because he couldn’t help it, and the Counselor merely looked at him in stark confusion. “I’m sorry, Counselor, it’s just.” Clearing his throat, he extended his hand and said warmly, “Welcome to Discovery.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Becker answered, giving his hand a strong shake before placing her glasses on her head and starting to pace the room. “I know something of what your people have been through, and I’m just _so_ eager to guide them through the healing process. I suppose I may be coming off as somewhat overzealous. Aside from the Ensign I mentioned, almost no one has been very forthcoming as yet. That’ll come with time, so I’ve got to be patient and understanding. I’m throwing all my efforts into that from now on, I promise you. Even if almost no one has appreciated my opening spiel.”

“There’s an opening spiel?” Lorca inquired wryly, helping himself to the chair vacated by Stamets. He looked around the place and saw multiple boxes filled to their brim with old-fashioned, hard-copy books: an impressive collection. An eclectic, brightly-colored array of bric a brac carefully lined up at the front of Becker’s desk suggested that she’d acquired a little something from most everywhere she’d traveled. Meanwhile, the wall to his left was almost entirely encompassed by dream catchers, the gems glinting occasionally in the overhead lighting, the feathers swaying serenely with the flow of the subtle air conditioning. 

When his eyes traveled back to Becker, he did a double-take. She’d put on a scuba mask and was staring at him in anticipation. “Do you get it? We’re going to _dive deep_ into the feelings that matter most to _you_. Good, isn’t it? I mean, I thought it was good. A little too on the nose, though, maybe.”

Chuckling, he answered, “Well, Counselor, I truly do appreciate that you’re beginning your new post with enthusiasm and a real ambition to do some good around here.” She nodded gratefully and he quirked an eyebrow. “Now, could you please take that off?”

Becker grinned, then scraped the gear from her head and laid it on the coffee table beside her. “Can I get you something to drink, sir? Before we begin? Cucumber water is very soothing.” 

Lorca felt a bit of sympathy for the chilly reception the Counselor had received from some of his crew, so he nodded and said in a friendly tone, “Sounds perfect. So, glasses? It’s pretty rare to see those.”

“Mmm, I know. I tried Retinax and it made me break out in hives, so here we are.” She jabbed a finger at her horn-rimmed lenses, which hung on a gold-beaded chain. Taking a tall glass from the replicator, she handed it to Lorca and asked, “So, how have you been feeling, Captain?”

*******************************************************************************

“I don’t think Counselor Becker’s unique approach is going to inspire much honest unfurling of inner thoughts among our crew,” Michael told Gabriel that night as they settled in for dinner in his quarters. Tucking her fork into her rice pilaf, she added, “At least, not initially. Once we all have a chance to get used to her chipper ways, I suspect that her innate talent and kindness will help guide the crew to open up, which will ultimately aid in recovery from our recent traumas.”

“Chipper,” Lorca laughed, getting up to grab his favorite bottle of hot sauce from the shelf behind them. “She _is_ that. Your assessment is sound, Commander.” His voice laid a special affection and pride over the mention of her restored rank, making Michael’s eyes sparkle in response as her foot found his under the table and gave it a coy nudge. Discussing work-related matters had brought the logic-driven formality back into Michael’s voice, but a single look from Gabriel was enough to make her forget everything else but the way he made her heartbeat skitter.

“So, are you going to have any rice with that hot sauce?” She smirked as he applied liberal amounts of the spicy condiment to his meal.

“What?” Lorca replied breezily, “Don’t knock it till you try it.” He took a bite, holding Michael’s gaze with a powerful ability to place her firmly between amusement and arousal. “Yummy,” he murmured suggestively, making her laugh and throw her napkin at him.

“I think I’ll opt to keep my own tastebuds fully intact,” Michael retorted, realizing belatedly that this comment sounded flirtatious as well. “I mean—”

“There’s nothing wrong with my tastebuds,” Lorca corrected her with faux-sternness. “I’d be happy to demonstrate that to you _again_ at any time.”

“Uhhhmmm,” Michael struggled. She was trying to control the urge to throw the dinner plates to the floor and jump into his lap but still wondering about another question that had lingered on her mind. “What did you tell Counselor Becker about your current mental state? Unless you’d prefer to keep it under doctor-patient confidentiality, that is.” 

She already knew he couldn’t say no to her, of course. The feeling was quite mutual.

“I told her,” Gabriel replied, “That I love it here on the Discovery, and I think that from what I’ve seen so far, it’s got one of the most impressive crews in the fleet. I told her that the loss of my _former_ crew is something I’ve still yet to fully admit to myself or deal with, but that I’d also recently met someone and become romantically involved. That the relationship I share with this woman has changed me in all the best ways, has kept me breathing when grief’s stranglehold would have broken me down completely. I told her that I never really understood what it meant to be in love before I met you, but that now…hell, yeah, I get it.” He registered the overwhelmed look that crossed Michael’s face and added concernedly, “What is it?”

“It’s just that I never wanted something to last forever,” Michael confessed. “Not like this. Not so badly that it hurt.” Tears stung her eyes and she shook her head with a shaky laugh, immediately moved to soothe the worry that flickered in his eyes. “I think that feeling this way…it’s a good thing, Gabriel.”

He gave her a gentle smile and opened his mouth to reply, but just then someone indicated their presence outside the door of his quarters.

Sighing at the interruption, he called, “Who is it?”

“It is Commander Saru, sir,” the Kelpien’s typically formal tone replied.

Michael stood up, heading for the bedroom to conceal her presence before the door slid open.

“Hello, Commander, what can I do for you?” he greeted Saru, trying to play off the awkwardness of the moment as best as he could. For now, it was clear that he and Michael needed to keep their relationship under wraps, but Lorca was also distinctly uncomfortable with either one of them having to slink off to another room in situations like this. It seemed childish and also hurtful to both of them.

_Something’s gonna have to give._

“I just wanted to inform you that we’ve arrived at Vulcan, sir,” Saru informed the Captain, his sharp blue eyes moving briefly to the table clearly set for two, making Lorca realize that he himself was actually blushing. 

_Okay, this is just ridiculous._

“Thank you, Number One. Inform Ambassador Sarek that our boarding party will be prepared to beam down with him and his wife. In addition to conferring with the Vulcans regarding several of our ongoing science projects, it will be nice to allow Commander Burnham some time to visit with her family and friends.” _Smooth,_ Lorca thought, directing a snide and sarcastic attitude at himself. _So damn casual and nonchalant._

“Indeed,” Saru remarked with the very coolness of attitude which Gabriel couldn’t seem to summon. “I look forward to returning to our original mission plan now that the war is over. As you know, my people detest conflict, and the Discovery’s unique dedication to exploration both within our own labs and without, in the worlds to which we voyage, was a delightful revelation when I was originally posted to this vessel.”

“Back to normal,” Lorca agreed, nodding about ten too many times. _I think I need more therapy._

Once Saru left, Gabriel followed Michael into the bedroom, only to find her hovering with an intently investigative look over a vase on the bureau. “What’s up?” He asked rather apologetically, blaming himself somehow for the necessity to hide their romance. Slipping an arm around her waist as her head dropped automatically against him, Lorca noticed for the first time that the flowers in the vase were missing their blossoms. 

“It seems bizarre that the flowers would all shed at the same time, especially since you only gave these to me two days ago,” Michael remarked suspiciously. She picked up one of the purple blossoms and added, “If I didn’t know better, I’d actually say someone came in here and cut them off.”

“You’re right, they certainly look beheaded.” Lorca tightened his hold around Burnham protectively. “I don’t like it. That’s a creepy thing to do, makes me wonder if we’ve got a wolf in our midst. I should go and speak to the Security Chief now, in fact.”

 _Back to normal, indeed. It seems like five minutes have passed since the war ended and there’s already more going on than I can seem to keep up with._

Not that he wasn’t going to do his damnedest anyway.

“First I need to say…Michael, I don’t like all this sneaking around we’re doing. It’s unfair to you, and makes me feel like a damn kid about to get caught with my hand in the cookie jar. Hell if I know another way around it, and it’s driving me bonkers.”

“Me, too,” Michael concurred, wrapping her arms around his waist and laying her head against his heart. He rubbed her back and she sighed contentedly. No matter what else was going on, there was always comfort to be found in their embrace. “But if the crew were to learn of the nature of our relationship and someone relayed the information to Starfleet Command, we could be charged for breaking regulation. Chances are, the charge would be seemingly mild, such as one of us being transferred to another ship, but you and I both know that for us, that would be no mere slap on the wrist.”

“You’re right. I mean, the only way we could really circumvent the regulation on fraternizing within the same chain of command would be….oh, wait a minute now!” Lorca grinned as if he was ready to dub himself an absolute genius. “That’s it, Michael, I’ve got it.”

Michael drew back and arched an eyebrow, shooting him a fond but doubtful smile. “What’s got you all in a tizzy, if I may be so bold as to inquire?” 

He chuckled at her repeating one of his own phrases back to him. “It’s simple. If you and I are married, they can’t split us apart. So why don’t we just do that?” Michael’s eyes grew huge and her lips, though still smiling, twitched in a manner he found frustratingly, but also beguilingly mysterious. “What? It makes sense. I love you, you love me, why shouldn’t we get married? Then we can stop all of this surreptitious nonsense.”

Michael gave a short laugh, the kind that was again downright vague. “No,” she answered simply, patting him on the chest.

“Huh? Why not?” Lorca’s forehead creased in perplexity, but Michael leaned up and kissed his lips, caressing his face in a way that let him know she adored him, despite her refusal of his brilliant idea.

“Because that wasn’t a proposal. When I hear a real proposal, under the right circumstances and because it’s what you truly want more than anything else, _then_ I’ll be ready to revisit the concept of matrimony. Come on, I’ll accompany you to Security. Once that’s squared away, it’ll be time to beam down to Vulcan. There are so many things I’m looking forward to showing you, so many people I’d love for you to meet.” Repeating that pat to his chest which while undoubtedly affectionate, pronounced a certain amusement on Michael’s part that flabbergasted Lorca, she strode to the door. “Are you coming?”

“Yes,” Lorca declared, flustered. “Uh, let’s go.”

*********************************************************************  
After informing the Security Chief that there had been a possible break-in to the Captain’s quarters, Lorca ordered an investigation and tightened security parameters until it had been completed. He and Burnham then made their way down the corridor that led to the transporter room, but their conversation from earlier was tugging his heart, nagging him with self-reproach.

Taking her gently by the arm, Lorca paused their journey, letting go again quickly enough so that no one around them would place any meaning on the momentary touch. 

“Sir?” Michael gave him the Mona Lisa smile again and he shook his head, laying a hand on his brow with a chuckle.

“You are gonna be the death of me, you absolute goddess,” Lorca accused her, nodding to a relatively secluded enclave to their left. A dip in the wall accommodated a viewscreen and console for any impromptu communications an officer might need to initiate or answer, but Gabriel had another sort of message in mind.

Michael followed him to the comms station, looking bewildered. “What is it now, Captain?”

“Oh, brother, would you quit it with that ‘Captain’ malarkey? I think you’ve got a good idea what’s bothering me, and you’re right to still be annoyed. I’m…I’m sorry about that jacked-up proposal earlier. I wasn’t thinking,” he admitted repentantly.

“So, you weren’t thinking, and that’s why you asked me to marry you?” Michael snorted. “I’m not sure that makes it any better.”

“No, that’s not—listen, I just meant that you deserve a real proposal. And I believe that one day, maybe when you least expect it, I’m gonna give you one that’s going to blow your mind.” He heard the innocent excitement in his own voice and marveled again at her effect on him.

“Oh, really?” Michael asked archly, glancing around at the momentarily abandoned corridor. 

“Yes,” Lorca confirmed proudly, straightening his uniform shirt. She giggled.

“I love you,” Michael murmured happily as their eyes met again and he wondered if they even _could_ simply look at each other without gazing longingly. It hadn’t happened yet, though he was fairly adept at maintaining his professional composure as needed…most of the time.

“I love you, too,” Gabriel answered, not quite realizing that he’d instinctively allowed his hands to stroke over her shoulders and arms, initiating an intimate posture. They gazed on too long, silently communicating the desire for a kiss which in the current environment couldn’t be. But their faces angled and grew nearer anyway, both of them swept up in the moment until someone cleared his throat right beside them. 

Jumping apart, Michael and Gabriel turned to face Sarek, who regarded them with disapproval so overt that it belied his Vulcan nature. But Sarek allowed himself just a second’s worth of honest reaction before he put his features back in order, even supplementing his unfazed look with a mild air of wryness.

“Good evening, Captain Lorca. Michael.” Sarek greeted them, nodding at their shocked, embarrassed faces. When he got to Michael’s name, the syllables were touched by barely gleanable dissatisfaction. “I trust I shall see you both in the transporter room shortly.” He walked off, leaving the two lovers to exchange panicked looks.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen your eyes get that big before, and that’s really saying something,” Lorca stated nervously as Michael stared at him as if she was ready to ask him to take the Discovery back in time to before Sarek had walked in on their almost-kiss.

“That was not the ideal way for Sarek to learn of our romance, to say the least,” Michael groaned.

“Aw, come on, I’ll win him over, show him I deserve you, that I’d never lead you down a road that would bring you dishonor in Starfleet. I mean, how hard can it be? I promise you, Michael, I’ll make Sarek _love_ me.” He gave her his most adorable smile, laying on the Southern charm as if to demonstrate his irresistibility, but Michael saw right through to the disorder inside him.

“It can be hard,” she warned him. “But at least this trip back home won’t be boring.”

“Excellent point,” Lorca agreed, determined to put a positive spin on the situation. “After all, who wants to be bored?”

*****************************************************************************

“You look…not bored,” Michael gently accused Lorca as they entered Sarek and Amanda’s home and lingered in the doorway.

His tense features relaxed incrementally. “I’m alright,” he said smoothly, with more confidence than he truly felt.

“Gabriel, it’s going to be fine,” she murmured, and this time there was just something about the warm reassurance in her voice that made his stress start to fade away. 

“Really?” He asked, injecting a bit of humor into the incredulous question. His lips quirked in a half-smile and she couldn’t help laughing.

“Probably,” Michael surmised, her hands held behind her back, shoulders squared in what he recognized as her best “ready for anything” pose.

“It’s just so…awkward,” Lorca worried, looking around as if he thought someone was going to pounce out and attack them at any moment. 

Her forehead creased a tiny bit, as if she’d caught onto to a level of confusion in his reaction to the scenario that exceeded the normal parameters. “Families are inherently awkward, and mine is possibly qualified to win a special award in that category.”

“Are they…inherently awkward? That’s good to know, makes me feel a little better.” 

Michael gave Gabriel a confused, surprised look. His bright eyes widened at the necessity of divulging something he should have told her already. “You know how I told you that I don’t see my family that often?”

“Yes,” she said slowly, now held in suspense as to where this was going.

“Well, that’s because I don’t really _have_ very much in the way of family…or that is…any, at all.” Lorca waited on pins and needles for her reaction.

 _So now that’s over with. I told her. Anyway, she needs to know what she’s getting herself into. Every bit of baggage I’m dragging around…_ He swallowed hard against the lump which rose into his throat. “I’ve always thought of my crews as my family, really.” 

Shrugging, he found the nerve to look into her eyes, letting out a long breath when he saw that she regarded him with profound love and concern. She showed not a single shred of fear or regret at becoming involved with a man whom some might term “damaged goods.”

Since they’d gotten together, Lorca had felt and vastly appreciated Michael’s patience with him on this topic. They’d talked about their pasts plenty of times, but he’d skirted every chance to tell her any specific details about his parents and siblings. He’d been frustrated with what he perceived as his own cowardice about telling her the one thing which of all people she would certainly understand. Michael was an orphan, yes, but she wasn’t alone like him; she had Sarek and Amanda. All Gabriel had was a certain talent for making others like him, a security blanket to block out the cold, occasional realization that there was no one waiting for him back home on Earth, and he hadn’t been so lucky as to find someone to grow old with. Now that he’d fallen in love, he had been downright terrified to show her the magnitude of his past troubles. What if the compounded grief from his childhood and the more recent loss of the Buran simply swallowed him whole one day, rose up to yank him under water until he drowned without a single warning? Who’d want to be with anyone carrying that amount of risk in them every day?

He shook his hands out, and Michael took them both into her own. “I know we don’t have time to talk about the details now, but I’m so very sorry to hear that. And please, know that you aren’t being rejected by _my_ family. Don’t let that feeling in, even for a moment. Experiences like these are common to new relationships, and we’ll get through it together.”

“Common. Okay, then.” Lorca gave her a hopeful, small smile.

She actually had no idea, so she lifted her shoulders slightly and said, “Probably.” Michael pressed Lorca’s fingers to her lips and kissed them, then gave them one more encouraging squeeze before letting go. “Mother?” She called out tentatively.

The sitting room which lay just ahead of them was a pleasant, welcoming sort of space, decorated in warm shades of melon and maroon. The couches and chairs were slightly worn, giving them a cozy, lived-in appearance. Both Amanda and Sarek’s personalities were vibrantly represented here, and Lorca liked the way Michael’s mother had placed a bobblehead figure of some old-time Earth superhero right next to a classically styled Vulcan statue that sat on the dark wood side table. Gabriel could just imagine the expression on Sarek’s face the first time he’d walked in and seen that red and blue star-spangled figure with the big, silly grin pasted above his square jaw. From what Michael had already told him about her mother, that reaction had been the exact reason why Amanda had pulled the stunt, and Sarek most likely left the toy there because her amused response was a fond memory for him. This feeling, despite his lack of experience with it before meeting Michael, was now as well-known to him as living in his own skin. Pure, sometimes foolish, and always undeniable love. 

“It’s good to be home, isn’t it?” Amanda asked, sweeping into the room with a serene expression. She gave Michael a hug and shook Lorca’s hand. “Michael, Captain Lorca, won’t you have tea with us? I’m so very glad you’re here.”

“Thank you, ma’am, that’s very kind of you,” Lorca answered with a hesitant smile. “But I really should be heading back to check on Lt. Stamets’ status at the Science Academy.” 

He was optimistic about the new collaborations which the Discovery crew was undertaking with the Vulcans. It reconfirmed the amount of trust which the allies had forged, showed that after winning the war together, they could built on that foundation and become stronger by not fearing their differences, but rather learning from each other.

“Nonsense,” Sarek interrupted. “There’s no need for such prompt attention to Lt. Stamets at this juncture. Your people have everything they need to begin conferring with our scientists regarding the further development of spore drive technology,” he pointed out crisply, stepping into the room and gesturing for the others to do the same. 

_Aw, hell no. He never spoke to me like that before he saw me leaning in to kiss his daughter._

Lorca obeyed, hiding his annoyance for the time being and sitting down a little too close to Michael on the couch before a pointed look from the Ambassador made him shift over. Michael bit her lip as if to suppress that laugh that always bubbled up in her throat when she found Lorca especially endearing, and he felt sweat starting to break out at the back of his neck. He tugged his collar and resisted the very slight urge to request the two of them emergency transport the hell out of there.

Amanda came back in with a platter of teacups and set them down before immediately picking up on the tension in the air. “Well, for goodness sake. What in the world has everyone looking like they just accidentally swallowed a live canary?” She asked convivially as she sat down on the arm of her husband’s chair, placing a casual hand on his shoulder.

“I must confess that my mind is plagued with worry upon our return home,” Sarek admitted, but going on to address a new subject. “I’ve learned that the group of extremists who attempted to assassinate me due to their disapproval of the Vulcan alliance with Starfleet have been quite active in our absence. They recently submitted a threat to the highest office of our government stating that if we do not break off all relations with the Federation, they will be forced to enact a deadly and catastrophic plan in retaliation. This behavior has recurred at unpredictable intervals over many years, and it is a source of continual mystery as to how exactly this terrorist group is able to remain so entirely concealed, avoiding our every attempt at capturing its members seemingly at the very moment before we achieve the goal.”

“That certainly is worrisome, Ambassador,” Gabriel said, his brow furrowing at this news. “What’s being done to investigate who these people are and _where_ they are, so that we can head off this attack before it begins?”

“A thorough investigation is ongoing, as indeed it has been since the first inkling we had of such a group’s existence,” Sarek explained cooly. “As you may have guessed, it is a cause very close to my own heart due to the way my family in particular has been targeted.”

Lorca thought about the bombing which had almost claimed Michael’s life as a child and his own anger at the terrorists’ ruthless crimes matched the feeling which burned in Sarek’s eyes. These extremists were no better than the vilest scum of the Terran Empire.

“It therefore stands to reason,” Sarek continued, “that whoever these individuals may be, they have connections within the government providing them the necessary intelligence to continually evade our investigative reach.”

“Seems like a risky time for Vulcans to start exchanging top secret scientific discoveries and technologies with the Federation,” Lorca mused. “If as you say, these criminals have eyes and ears so strategically placed.” But Sarek shook his head.

“There will never be a time free from some manner of impending crisis, Captain Lorca. That is the very reason why our work together with your crew should proceed as planned.”

“We must show them a united front. Backing down from showing off our alliance and benefiting from it would only give the extremists what they want and make them in turn more powerful, able to turn more minds to their cause,” Gabriel guessed, nodding in agreement at Sarek’s wisdom. 

“Exactly. Captain, you seem to have an instinctive grasp of diplomacy which combines with a military savvy in order to make you what might be termed the ideal Starfleet officer.” Sarek’s fingers formed a pensive triangle under his chin and Gabriel was almost afraid to accept the compliment, or make any sudden moves for that matter. 

_No way I’ve won his approval that quickly. There’s gotta be another shoe about to drop._

Lorca decided to risk a friendly, but not too over-the-top smile and nod. Michael, who had remained unusually quiet during their exchange, looked quite hopeful that things were going well. Amanda looked as if she just wanted someone to explain the discomforting undercurrent that clearly lay under the surface of the apparently professional conversation.

Sarek lifted his teacup with an elegant gesture of his long fingers and took a sip, placing it soundlessly back down before stating, “That does not, however, offer me a reason or explanation as to why you have begun a clearly ill-advised intimate relationship with my daughter.”

“What?” Amanda asked, intrigued. She leaned forward and examined Lorca and Michael’s faces again. “Well, that does explain a lot.”

“Father,” Michael said tersely, using the paternal name she only rarely bestowed on Sarek, “ _Don’t_ say ‘intimate.’”

It was such a typical statement for an embarrassed and annoyed daughter to say to a parent that it actually had the effect of reducing the anxiety which hung over the scene. Amanda chortled, stirring her tea and casting a cautioning look at Sarek.

“Sir, I know that it must have shocked you to find out about Michael and me in that way,” Lorca began. 

“What way?” Amanda mouthed at Michael, who shook her head and resigned her gaze to the ceiling.

“But I want both you and your wife to know that I have nothing but the best intentions towards your daughter. I love her with all my heart, and I’ll never do anything but cherish her and treat her with the utmost respect as long as she’ll have me.” Gabriel figured that just about covered it and it really couldn’t have been truer, so hell if he could guess why Sarek’s sour expression so completely clashed with Amanda’s pleased one.

“I appreciate your saying that, Captain,” Amanda told him. “You’ll have to excuse my husband. You see, he’s never actually had to apply Vulcan logic to the emotional issue of dealing with his daughter being in a serious romantic relationship of which he does not approve. And not to speak for him, but I’ve got the distinct impression it isn’t a challenge he’s been looking forward to confronting.”

“Indeed not,” Sarek agreed drily. “I would be most pleased to believe that your words of honor and decency towards Michael are genuine, Captain Lorca. But as you’ve undertaken the relationship in express conflict with Starfleet regulation regarding fraternization, and doubtless therefore chose to cloak the affair in secrecy, I fear that your conduct towards Michael has already been, to say the least, problematic.”

“This is no affair,” Michael objected indignantly, “And I can make make my own decisions. Being with Gabriel Lorca just happens to be one of the _best_ decisions I’ve ever made. And it’s more than worth having to deal with a few complications because we _will_ find a way through them, and…” She’d gotten a bit breathless. Gabriel’s eyes were locked on her, surprised, impressed and touched.

“And he has my heart, so you’re just going to have to deal with it,” she finished definitively.

A long pause elapsed. Sarek looked as if the urge to roll his eyes in irritation was almost insurmountable.

“Well, how can I follow that?” Gabriel asked jovially, trying to ease the remaining tension. His eyes were also shining with such obvious affection and appreciation for Michael that she smiled back as if they were suddenly alone in the room.

Amanda brushed a hand against Sarek’s arm and said transitionally, “Oh, he’ll come around. Follow me, you two; I’ll show you the room you’ll be staying in while you’re here.”

“I believe you meant _rooms,_ ” Sarek corrected his wife, making her snort with laughter.

“Okay,” Lorca agreed, mortified. _Having a Vulcan father-in-law is gonna be fun. That is, if I ever manage to find the right moment to propose properly, and if Sarek doesn’t kill me first._

“Darling, you’re being adorably absurd,” Amanda told her husband. “I’m actually regretting that this is the first chance I’ve had to see you acting like this.”

“Sarek, are we _really_ doing this?” Michael asked with a heavy sigh, putting her hands on her hips.

“It would appear so,” Sarek acknowledged with a short nod before leaving the room, heading right outside and escaping the fraught scene at last.

Michael and Gabriel gave each other that “what are we going to do?” look again, the one that had come to define the logistical side of making the relationship work. Meanwhile, Amanda slung an arm around each of their shoulders and said conspiratorially to Lorca, “Welcome to the family.”


	9. The shape of years and the weight that brought us here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> F.Y.I.: Here resumeth le smut.

Michael lasted about one hour, tossing and turning in bed until her restlessness broke through her usual polite adherence to propriety and she just didn’t care anymore because she couldn’t.

She hadn’t spent a night out of Lorca’s arms since the first one they’d spent together, and this absolutely would not do.

Knocking would’ve made a noise, so she just crept into his room, slightly disappointed to find that Gabriel was asleep, his bare chest half-covered in sheets as it rose and fell steadily. Michael slid into bed beside him and propped her head up on one hand, elbow resting on the pillow beside him. She planned to watch his peaceful expression for just a moment, but then the tiny changes that flickered across it were too fascinating to miss out on. His eyebrows knitted together and then relaxed; his lips opened and closed, making the temptation to kiss them stir up though she resisted. Knowing she was losing herself to whimsy, Michael tried to be more sensible at last, laying her cheek against his shoulder and finding that this allowed her eyes to close, a feeling of tranquility spreading over her bones like heated velvet.

“Mmm?” Lorca said confusedly, shifting under her until he opened just one eye and the corner of his mouth turned up in pleased surprise. “What are _you_ doing in here, young lady? You’re going to get us in major league trouble before long.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Michael sighed, “But I couldn’t sleep without you. Or I suppose I just _really_ didn’t want to.”

“That’s alright; I’m a notoriously light sleeper. Good thing, too. I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.” He wrapped his arms around her, hands roving over her lilac satin nightgown with immediate approval. 

Michael followed along the path which his fingers inspired her to pursue, kissing his upper body at first with languorously slow attention until his hips jerked up slightly. “ _Oh,_ ” she smiled, reaching down to cup the hard-on she’d caused.

“Oh is right. Thanks a lot, by the way. I’m completely awake now and if I don’t make it till morning, not following my instincts right now is surely gonna be the cause.” Lorca sucked in a breath when Michael’s teasing fingers traipsed up and down his stiff length right before she bit down on his bicep. 

“What are you doing?” Gabriel asked, bewildered, as Michael climbed astride him and laid her body flush against his, kissing his all-too-willing lips. “We can’t do this here, in your parents’ house. I’m barely welcome as it—” One more scorching kiss from Michael distracted him away from his sensible thoughts, but when she pulled back with a loving smirk, he shot her an accusing glance that was admittedly tinged with both amusement and desire.

“We can be quiet,” she proposed, moving her groin up and down against his until Lorca took her firmly by the hips and looked deep into her eyes.

“When are we ever _quiet_?” He asked, every trace of humor departing both of their expressions as their need for one another hit an all-time high. “Why did you really come in here?”

“Because I want you so badly I can barely breathe,” Michael murmured with a raw sultriness that prompted him to flip their positions, pinning her beneath his broad, powerful body with a simple touch of his fingers around her wrists. “Yes,” she said in reply to his implication.

“What do you mean, yes?” He purred against her mouth as she felt her nightgown starting to stick against her dampened arousal.

“Yes, make love to me right now. Yes, take control of me.” The excited tremble in Michael’s voice made Gabriel give her a very pointed look, stripping her down and doing all manner of bad things to her with just those beautiful, fathomless aqua eyes within the space of a few heated moments.

Smiling rather smugly, he dipped his head under the blankets, soon giving a distinct hiss of surprise. “No underwear?” he asked, lifting the hem of her nightgown as Michael grabbed onto the pillow, her breaths coming faster. “What kind of behavior is that? What exactly am I gonna do with you?” 

Gabriel pressed his lips against her warm entrance, eliciting a happy gasp as Michael let her eyes flutter shut, pressing her fingers tightly into the pillow. She lifted her hips, impatient for his next kiss, and Lorca lowered them back to the mattress. “Hold still,” he told her mischievously, “Or there’ll be consequences.”

Michael tried to keep her reactions at a low volume, especially since it had been _her_ short-sighted presumption that such a feat was possible which had allowed them to be so bold. But as Gabriel ran his tongue over her soaked slit and then began licking deeper, she let out a helpless yelp _and_ allowed her hips to jut upwards again.

Pulling the sheets down around his face, Gabriel looked up at Michael as he withdrew his lips from between her shaking thighs. “I thought I told you very clearly not to do that,” he reminded her.

“Oops,” Michael managed, so completely overwhelmed with impatient desire that without realizing it, she slipped up again, making her think her hips had a mind of their own. 

He clucked his tongue and gazed at her with his most devilish expression until Michael assumed she was most likely about to dissolve. “I was hoping that would happen,” he added, sliding one finger up and down her slit as she trembled, whimpering slightly. “I love that sound.” With that, Gabriel returned his oral attentions right where he left off, except that this time, he added his finger, bringing Michael to a startling realization.

 _’Quiet?’ Was I insane? It’s all I can do not to scream!_

She felt his lips curve into a smile against her begging center right before he drew back slightly, watching her expression as he added a second finger and pumped in and out with exacting skill. Taking pity on her state of disintegration, Lorca reached up with his other hand and she took his thumb into her mouth, licking and sucking it to ease the insanity of not being able to cry out. Only seconds later, she came sharply enough that she had to bite down to keep from shouting, and he brought his face back up to kiss her lips, heedless passion making them cling together, grinding their lower bodies as their tongues tangled.

“You like that, baby?” Lorca drawled, prompting Michael to let out an accusing laugh. 

“Will you _please_ stop being such a tease?” she responded to the rhetorical question, running her hands up and down his muscled arms, loving the sculpted flow of his warm body.

Gabriel smirked and pinned her hands down again, replying with a curt “No.” Kissing and biting at her smooth neck, unceasingly pleased with every flavor of her body, he added, “Do you really want me to?”

“Never,” Michael conceded smilingly. He stroked her wrists to feel her rushing pulse as he slid his pulsating erection inside her, both of them moaning immediately and then sharing a brief moment of panic at the loudness to which they’d nearly surrendered. “Mmm,” she uttered hazily when Gabriel switched from the tentative first few thrusts, allowing her body to again get accustomed to his rigid girth, to sinking all the way in.

“Silk suits you,” Lorca said huskily, pausing in his thrusts to suck each of her nipples firmly through the thin, cool fabric. Michael gasped, threading her fingers through his as he resumed driving into her, both of them soon discovering that the only way to smother their moaning was through near non-stop kissing, their wet lips colliding in an increasingly messy endeavor to achieve the goal, hooked on the sensations that consumed them. 

There was just one more thing Michael wanted, an irresistible habit which had become one of her favorites, so she just lifted her wrist slightly as they started to get closer to coming, and Gabriel automatically receded the pressure of his hand over it. She put her palm against the warmth of his taut chest and found his heartbeat where it throbbed incessantly, all for her. The best feeling in the world was touching him right there as their orgasms hit, his ragged sigh mixing with her almost feral, aching moan. Michael could feel every way his heart pounded with the power of the feeling between them. Gabriel sucked her lower lip between both of his as he clutched her body to ride out the waves of pleasure still singing through them, then they pressed their foreheads together, heaving deep breaths.

Lorca smoothed her nightgown over her bottom and then cupped her there to bring her body against his chest, where she curled up and laid her head against him as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. They remained in this position for several minutes before he spoke.

“I was an awkward child. Dyslexic, which made me lag behind in school. Shy and unsure of myself, I had no confidence to speak of.”

Michael simply listened, cuddling in closer, intently focused on his words and understanding the precious rareness of this confession. 

“My parents were professors, brilliant people, my father a scientist and my mother a philosopher, but they had that particular sort of savant genius that can’t really make connections with other people. I understand what drew them to one another; they understood each other’s coldness and work-obsessed mindsets; they could exist alone together without ever judging or getting their feelings hurt. But what I have _never_ been able to fathom,” and here Gabriel’s voice broke angrily, “Is whatever possessed them to decide that having children was a good idea, given those factors of their personalities.”

She felt a seismic crack in her heart starting to spread at the realization that even pondering the way he’d come into the world had painful associations. How could that be?

“My brother and sister were adept; adaptable, even, which was great because we moved around a ton while my parents taught at many universities and my father worked on more projects than I could begin to keep track of. But while my siblings were confident, popular, adjusted…I seemed to become more of a mess the older I got.”

Although Michael noticed, of course, that Lorca never mentioned his brother and sister by name, she wasn’t going to question it. Again, she wondered worriedly what would make him prefer to avoid such a natural action as sharing those names. Would the sound of the syllables fill him with hurtful memories? As much as she hated to realize it, this seemed to be the case.

“Finally, they couldn’t take it anymore,” Gabriel concluded bluntly. Michael stared at him then, startling all at once.

“ _What_?” She asked in the grip of a fear that was starting to become tinged by fresh rage.

He couldn’t look at her with his damp blue eyes, not while he was telling her this part, so he found a random spot somewhere across the room to fix his gaze upon, though he saw nothing but the past.

“They were just gone one morning. I was ten. When I woke up, everything was gone except for my own belongings, the toys and books and clothes in my room. The house was empty because my parents left me there, took my brother and sister and moved onto the next place, wherever that was. Never even made arrangements for my care, because you see, then they’d have to admit to themselves what they were doing, think hard enough about it to experience a goddamned human emotion.” His hand balled into a tight fist that helped him fend off the urge to sob before he continued. 

“There was just…see, because my parents had sort of this icily condescending type of amusement that they took in old-fashioned Earth culture. And at some point deep in my family’s history, some great-great-great grandparent or other had owned a fortune cookie factory, churning out manufactured destinies wrapped up in bland, sweet wafers. That day when they left, they left behind a whole bunch of those on the table in my room, sort of a goodbye or a parting message. To find my own destiny, I guess. Maybe an admission that they couldn’t handle me, so I’d have to handle myself.”

“Luckily, though, I had, uh…” Gabriel fought through the intense memories that swept his mind, finding the words to explain. “I had an aunt, Aunt Ruth. She was a real firecracker, you would have loved her. And after a couple of days of me kind of just sitting around waiting for them to come back, she came over to visit and found me. Took me in, since that was her way, she was the total opposite of my parents; I can’t even believe she’s related to my father, much less that they were twins. That always boggled my mind.”

“Gabriel,” Michael sighed, caressing his cheek, finding the tears that had slipped free from his distant eyes and smoothing them away.

“I’m okay,” he promised, kissing her fingers, meeting her eyes again and nodding firmly. “I just have to get through this.”

She nodded, bringing the blankets up a little further to cover her own shoulders and his upper chest, noticing that even in his grief, he took the time to rub her back like he always did when she expressed the slightest indication of feeling a chill. Michael had forgotten somehow, the way the nights on Vulcan brought harsh winds, contrasting entirely with the sticky heat that characterized the daytime. As a child, she’d learned to huddle up in her quilts as soon as night fell, wandering the house with them wrapped around her like a protective cloak. The memory made her hurt all over again for the way she’d been provided every consideration of comfort both by her biological and adoptive parents, while Lorca had faced the opposite experience.

“Aunt Ruth took one look at me after a few days of letting me sulk, and she said ‘boy, we’re gonna have to do something about you.’” He chortled fondly. “She was right, too. A smart lady, though her speciality was being the best damn chef to ever concoct a plate of chicken and biscuits. Ruth was also savvy enough to realize I’d never get any confidence until I realized that I had something to offer the world. She found me teachers who guided me through methods to work around my dyslexia, and though even to this day I have to take a beat every time I’m confronted with a piece of reading, that’s all it is. A beat, an almost invisible hesitation. My goal became keeping every fault of mine like that: hidden away. It turned into an addiction, an obsession. I became insatiably ambitious about absorbing every bit of education I could, especially anything about history and science. Of course I knew about Starfleet and I came to see it as a way for me to escape the way life on Earth started out for me until it could no longer define who I was.”

“But in my myopic insistence on shaping myself into this new person, bold and brave, unflappably self-reliant and assured, I too often left my aunt behind. I went off to the Academy and barely communicated with her. Worst part is, even though it must have hurt her, I also knew that she understood. Being around her reminded me of my parents and I was hell-bent on wiping out their memories, and those of my siblings. I thought if I didn’t, they’d hold me back forever. I couldn’t believe in me with them hanging around in my brain, so I evicted them. Broke free, flew the hell away. Somewhere in the middle of all that, she passed. Been running ever since and then one day, I met you and I stopped short.” Lorca concluded his story, gently holding her head against his skin, needing to feel her close.

“I’m so sorry,” she began, finding the words hopelessly insubstantial, but he shook his head.

“Shhh, I told you, it’s fine. I’m fine. You don’t even have to say anything. As a child, you endured traumas a thousand times worse than anything that happened to me, and that _kills_ me, Michael; I can’t bear to think of it. That’s why I know how you feel right now and I don’t want you to get…sucked down into my miserable past. Now you know, and that’s enough.”

Michael lifted herself up, laying across his body, arms sliding against his chest as she took his face in her hands. “Wherever you come from, whatever made you, and absolutely any dark abyss you’re ever heading into, I’m there with you. You won’t ever go there alone. _Never._ Do you understand?”

Lorca nodded, biting his lip as tears pricked his eyes again. “Yeah,” he replied shakily, hugging her, rocking them back and forth. “Yeah.” He rested his head against Michael’s shoulder, breathing in her scent until he relaxed, sleepiness falling over both of them until they were lost to it.

******************************************************************************************

“You want me to go first and then you follow me in a few minutes?” Gabriel joked the next morning, once they’d enjoyed a shower together and put their uniforms back on.

“I believe that if we want to stop being treated like star-crossed teenagers, we may as well stop _acting_ that way,” Michael suggested, taking his hand.

“Thank God,” Lorca agreed, and they headed down to the kitchen, where Amanda was preparing breakfast. Ensign Tilly was sitting at the island helping out, pouring orange juice from a large blue crystal pitcher into four glasses.

“Good,” Sylvia began haltingly, clearing her throat at the sight of the overtly coupled-up Lorca and Burnham. “Good _morning,_ you two. I was a little worried because all they were serving over at the Science Academy cafeteria was Plomeek soup. Bleh. Ambassador Sarek said I might do better by coming here, and Amanda’s been nice enough to take me in for breakfast.”

“You’re welcome anytime, sweetie. I wish I could tell you that soup’s an acquired taste,” Amanda remarked, making a sour face. 

“Anything I can do to help, ma’am?” Lorca asked. 

“I’m torn between telling you to stop calling me ma’am and letting you keep doing it because you’re so damn cute and earnest,” Amanda replied, patting his cheek. “Put these dishes on the table, would you?” She handed him the plates of eggs, toast and bacon as Lorca’s nostrils absorbed the enticing smell and his stomach rumbled.

“Worked up an appetite, did you?” Tilly whispered to Michael, who was practically cramming the food into her mouth. Back home with her mother, she was in her comfort zone. She elbowed Sylvia and swallowed a bite before answering.

“How is everything going at the Academy?” Michael’s subject change made the ensign roll her eyes.

“It’s great, their facilities are unbelievable,” she answered quickly before reverting, “So, have you guys figured out how you’re gonna handle the whole fraternization regulation thingie?”

Since Lorca was still conversing with Amanda, Michael felt safe confiding quietly, “He suggested that we get married.”

Tilly almost choked on her eggs, lightly beating her fist against her throat before chugging orange juice to ease the discomfort. “ _What_? Oh, my God! What did you say?”

“I indicated that I’m not going to marry him because of a regulation,” Michael explained.

“Do you want to marry him anyway?” Sylvia took one look at Michael’s dreamy expression and added, “Well, of course you do. I mean, damn, who wouldn’t?”

“That is a fair point,” Michael laughed, “But if it’s meant to be, it will happen at the right time, and not because he felt pressured to ask me.”

“I’m sure that’s not the only reason he asked. But I mean, do you think you’ll be able to keep your cool, like on missions together if one of you is threatened or hurt? Maybe this is a dumb question, given your Vulcan background and the handle you have on logic, but I just think that sounds _really_ hard. If not impossible, not that I think it will be for you or anything. I just mean, if it were me…I mean, how do you concentrate, like on the bridge?” Sylvia whispered, “You’ve seen him naked!”

Michael tried to give Tilly a “shut up!” look but it turned into a laugh as Lorca inquired, “What are you two ladies talking about?”

“Uh, science,” Tilly told him briskly, forking up more eggs. “So much science.”

“Good stuff,” Gabriel agreed with a wink at Michael showing he figured they might be indulging in more girl talk related topics. 

************************************************************************************

“Are you alright, Lt. Stamets?” Michael asked as she hovered over the console where Paul was showing her the latest theories he’d been working on in collaboration with the most elite Vulcan science team.

“I think so,” Stamets replied unsteadily. He wiped his brow with the heel of his hand and squinted, pale lashes crushing together as if something pained him. “I feel…” He held the console tightly and finished, “ _Weird._ Though the way things’ve been going for me lately, I guess it might make more sense to say weirder?”

“They have a hospital in the building adjacent to this,” Michael said, resting her hand on his shoulder. “Perhaps you should go and get checked out.”

“Maybe…hey, wait a minute.” Paul’s eyes scanned the room as both he and Burnham noted the way almost everyone else in it was also looking worse for ware. The Vulcan and Starfleet scientists were sweaty and disoriented, mumbling confusedly. Tugging the back of his collar, Stamets resolved, “Better get checked out sooner rather than later.” They ran into Lorca as they were headed for the exit, with the Captain looking totally unsurprised at Paul’s state.

“Everyone’s a mess around here all of a sudden,” Gabriel announced uneasily. “I just had to send ten people over to the hospital with symptoms just like these.”

Just then, Paul's posture straightened. “For some reason, I seem a little better now,” he told them, right before his face broke out into a bright grin and he laughed. “ _Way_ better, in fact.”

Burnham and Lorca exchanged perplexed looks, but before they could seek out the cause of Stamets’ uncharacteristically sprightly mood, Sarek came charging through the doors in front of them and immediately fastened a venomous glare at Gabriel.

His face glistening with sweat, Sarak lunged at Lorca with his fists raised, ready to pummel the Captain. “I’ll _kill_ you!” he shrieked, almost landing a punch before Michael stilled him with a nerve pinch between his neck and shoulders. 

Dropping to the floor and cradling her father’s head in her lap, Michael looked up at Lorca in confusion as Stamets started wandering around singing some kind of merry limerick.

“It seems they’ve been affected by some kind of outbreak, possibly viral, certainly with matching symptoms of perspiration and dizziness,” Michael began as Lorca nodded.

“Followed soon after by what look like adrenaline-surges and wildly out of character behavior, expression of repressed impulses, caving in either to the light or dark side of what they normally bottle up,” he concluded, opening his communicator at once. “Commander Saru, we’ve got a situation down here. Some kind of illness is sweeping over the population, and I’m pretty certain it’s no coincidence that there’s been a recent terrorist threat regarding these very proceedings in which we’re engaged.”

“I see, Captain,” Saru answered with controlled anxiousness. “How may we assist you?”

“I’m gonna need a full medical team, stat, and please have Counselor Becker beam down as well. We could use her insight on the psychological aspect of this ailment.”

“Aye, sir,” Saru replied before signing off.

“Chances are that the hospital staff may already be compromised,” Michael theorized, glancing over at Stamets, who was now pontificating floridly about the patterns in the grey-wood walls.

“This thing is moving fast. Possibly it’s in the water? If so, we’re in trouble, too.” Lorca was unspeakably grateful to be uninfected as yet, since the chaos blooming around him happened to be the exact sort of situation he feared most. He couldn’t lose his head like that, not ever, not after all these years of exerting such calculated, will-power-driven control over himself and the version of him which he projected to others. And if he lost those abilities, he couldn’t organize the solution to this crisis, that was for sure. 

“It may just as easily be communicated through physical touch,” Michael guessed, “In which case, _I_ may be compromised. I touched Lt. Stamets just a few minutes ago when I noticed he was unwell.” Her rueful expression met Lorca’s instantly worried one. 

“We’ll get through this,” he determined. “If you are infected, it hasn’t set in yet, so right now I need you by my side coming up with ideas. We need to interrogate everyone who’s still lucid and had a role to play in this scientific collaboration. At least one person in this building is most certainly working in collusion with the terrorists, and probably clicked down the domino that sent this illness out into the populace.”

Michael nodded, clearly resolved to keep her wits about her until the last moment she lost the ability. “If they’re here, Gabriel, we’ll find them.”


	10. Losing our control

Her name was V’lelaar, and at just over six feet, with an imposingly icy demeanor and regular accompaniment by five severe-looking lackeys, she would have seemed an improper person to annoy even if she were not the Administrator of Vulcan High Command.

But Gabriel was irate by now.

“We simply cannot allow you to go through this facility interrogating our government agents and scientists as though you have the remotest authority here.” V’lelaar arched one slender, dark eyebrow and pursed her lips as Lorca bristled at her denial of his thrice-iterated request. “I feel compelled to remind you that we do not have any evidence which connects the terrorist threat with the fact that an apparently viral outbreak has the Academy in disarray.”

Michael frowned, clearly aware of Lorca’s growing irritation, and thus perhaps inspired to speak before he could. “With respect, Administrator V’lelaar, it would seem quite illogically coincidental that a plague should sweep through the Academy’s populace during the collaboration with Starfleet which did prompt the terrorists to threaten opposing action. Does this not seem to be an act of sabotage against our planned operation?”

“That is a matter which is suitable for _our_ investigation, not your own.”

“Why wouldn’t you want to use every resource at your disposal?” There was a bitter edge in Gabriel’s voice. As they stood in the hospital wing of the enormous facility, he was newly reminded of the weight and threat of this problem. More and more students and faculty were arriving with fresh symptoms, the sweaty and incoherent masses co-mingling haphazardly alongside those who had been the among the first to catch the ailment. _This_ was the time to get answers, while some of these people could still express themselves and recall details of the time leading up to the outbreak.

“With respect, ma’am, this is a downright terrible time for hesitation or delay. Every second that ticks by is just another lost opportunity to get to the truth of the matter.” Lorca put his hands behind his back to show a formal, polite posture, mainly due to the advantage which the position provided: he could grip his own wrists very tightly to stave off some of his anger.

A minuscule twitch played about one corner of V’lelaar’s mouth. “Indeed, Captain Lorca. That is the first point you have made with which I wholly concur. To that end, we shall commence _our_ investigation into this matter at once. When we learn anything of consequence, if it should aid in the recovery of those among your crew who are infected, or in any way impact Vulcan-Federation relations, you will be the first to know. With respect.” 

She swept off, silent minions in tow until they broke off from their configuration and began approaching certain Vulcan patients whom they deemed likeliest to shed light on the situation.

“Gabriel,” Michael murmured, “the Administrator’s people will be watching us closely to ensure we do not interfere.”

“True,” he answered briskly, scanning the room and feeling distinctly as if he’d wandered into a twentieth century George Romero horror film. The behavior among the infected was as varied as it was disturbing: for every person rocking back and forth cradling their skull and humming, someone else might be scrawling elaborate math equations on the floor while another announced that from now on, they would be a cat. Others, like Sarek, had to be restrained on their cot to prevent violent lashing-out. 

Whoever was responsible for this had intended more than destruction and chaos; they wanted people to _suffer_ for wanting to work together and for believing that peace and respect were paramount, that the Federation had just as much to offer the universe as the Vulcans did. 

Gabriel rubbed his chin and added, “But as far as what the Administrator thinks of our involvement, well, it’s a funny story. I just don’t give a flying fuck.” 

Michael smiled tensely, nodding. “Glad to hear it.”

“Lt. Commander Paul Stamets, get your ass over here,” Lorca called. Stamets pulled his hands away from the wall as if with great effort and wandered over.

“What is it, Captain? I’m actually very busy trying to extract the poems from the cracks in the walls…they’re all over this facility, the words, they are _calling_ me…there’s something I’ve been missing.” Paul scratched the back of his head and squinted under the room’s bright, antiseptic lighting, as if he was trying to recall a concept that was just out of memory’s reach. 

“You know, part of it is about the _other_ Gabriel Lorca, and — I think I’ve been missing it all along, ever since you arrived and—” Stamets clapped his hands together hard. “Crash landed on the bridge of our ship. It’s not the only…there are too many anomalous threads and destiny is this sort of yarn ball that’s been stomped on until the events and the consequences are a squashed almighty knot. They ended up in the _walls._ ” He whispered the last part as if it was a treacherous secret.

“I’ll tell you what it is, I’m worried about you,” Lorca replied. “As one of the first among us to catch this thing, you’re possibly in a special kind of danger. Stay close to us, just…examine the wall wherever we happen to be standing, okay? Keep an eye on it for us. Has anyone seen Ensign Tilly?”

Michael nodded across the room to where Sylvia was sitting on her cot, head thrown back in jubilation, her entire body trembling with uncontrollable laughter. 

“Ensign Tilly is…being mean. She’s insulting everyone she encounters with vicious ridicule, then dissolving into hysterics. Certainly, she is equally as deluded and disoriented as Stamets.”

“Uhh…infected, _not_ deaf,” Paul complained. “By the way, the stars are out of order. It must have been the network, the one from Over There, when it was so sick, reaching out to touch us with its decay. And we thought we escaped!” He laughed in a jerky, haunting way and rested his hand to the grooves in the wall. “It’s all right here…right here…”

“Yeah,” Lorca told him drily before asking in a lower tone to Michael, “How’re you holding up?”

“No symptoms so far, but I have the distinct feeling that I’m a ticking time bomb.” Michael’s eyes circled the room, picking up on a low flicker of blue light ahead of them which indicated that the new away team was beaming down from Discovery. 

They strode forward to greet Counselor Becker, who was joined by Nurse Adrian Stewart, a young human man who looked deeply out of his depth, and several more medical officers. Although the Administrator had blocked Discovery’s involvement in the criminal inquiries, she had no problem with a medical assist. 

“Nurse Stewart,” Lorca observed quietly, immediately taking the man aside. “Are you up to this? Something wrong?”

“I’m just…I know that we were going to pick up our new chief medical officer after this mission, and I never expected to have to step up like this…I mean, I spend most every day wishing that Dr. Culber was still with us, but we never needed him more than we do now.” The Nurse’s hazel eyes were wide with dismay, and he lifted his shoulders in the defeat of assumed deficiency. “I’m _way_ out of my depth, Captain.”

Lorca clapped him on the back and answered smoothly, “Nonsense, Adrian, you could get to the bottom of this in your sleep. Now start examining patients and report back to me post haste with every detail you can glean. Not only do I sincerely believe in you, but we have no time for the luxury of insecurity. Get going.”

Adrian nodded, looking slightly more encouraged. “Aye, aye, Sir.”

“You believe that Nurse Stewart could ‘get to the bottom of this in his sleep?’” Michael asked dubiously.

“Naw, but I think he can get us _some_ answers a lot faster if he thinks I’m pasting gold stars on his report card. Daphne,” he continued, nodding for the Counselor to step forward. “You’re to trail Adrian. Report back sometime yesterday afternoon.”

“On it,” Becker nodded, her sharp green gaze flitting rapidly over the environs. While she and Stewart assessed the patients, Lorca and Michael began asking light, casual questions of those people in the room who were only showing early symptoms, discovering depressingly few clues as to the perpetrator’s identity in the process.

“We’re not so much going to hell in a handbasket as we are the actual ashes of the handbasket,” Lorca grumbled irritably, impatient for a win, no matter how tiny, just a bit of an edge. Lack of control and its accompanying panic were threatening his mind, to the extent that he truly couldn’t tell if he was just naturally this paranoid and panicky, or if he was starting to show symptoms. Putting a hand to his brow, he found it free of sweat, and his heart rate’s gallop was more likely down to stress.

Michael wasn’t so lucky. “Gabriel,” she murmured as Becker and Adrian came walking back in their direction. He didn’t want to look at her then, knowing that she would be perspiring, fighting a sudden need to give into some bizarre proclivity, and he was right. “I won’t hold out much longer,” she said, logical and determined. “I’m with you until I’m not. Let’s keep working.”

He gave her a tight smile. “I can’t let this…”

“You cannot allow your powerful urge to protect me first and foremost to interfere with the path which your duty dictates,” Michael concluded, glancing down at his hand, knowing she could not squeeze it as she wanted to. It occurred to Lorca that it might not matter that much, assuming that the disease _was_ transferred through touch. Enough people were rushing around that avoiding them brushing by and making physical contact with him was nearly impossible. He could already be infected.

“I love you, Michael,” Gabriel murmured impulsively.

Michael’s eyes had never been lovelier, dazzling and warm and exactly what he needed to restore his faith that they would get through this.

“It’s pretty bloody grim, to be brutally honest,” Daphne interrupted, suddenly appearing with a nodding Adrian by her side.

“A young Vulcan student just died,” Adrian confided in urgent, hushed tones. “And Captain, he had no injury or ailment sufficient to bring on his demise, except that his brain seems to have…fizzled out. Like all the will to live on and function just…”

Becker put her hands in the air in front of her and made an airy, sputtery “exploding” noise, waving and wiggling her fingers dramatically. “This sickness pinpoints one deep-rooted tendency within each of its victims and then expands it until it’s all they can think of, all they care about. I’m theorizing that the latent capacity is one the person works very hard to repress on a daily basis. Once freed from its cage, the passionate obsession intensifies so powerfully that they simply cannot sustain the energy that would be needed to see it through. And so that’s when—” Daphne started to show them the “boom” demonstration again, but Lorca shook his head.

“That’ll be sufficient, Daphne. Alright, what about a cure. Ideas, either one of you?”

“Well, certainly something to counteract the unmanageable levels of excitement we’re seeing here,” Adrian posited.

“Yes, downers, a lot of them, all the downers,” Becker agreed, nodding and flicking her finger rapidly over the screen of her tablet. “What’d you think of this as a starting point? We’re definitely looking at a psychotropic combatant to this plague.”

“That combination could work, but it might need to be adjusted up or down, tweaked with other medications to find the right balance — and we don’t have that kind of time. Or expendable guinea pigs. Who knows what might happen if we use the wrong cure?” Fretting came so easily to Adrian, making it seem like he’d probably be obsessed with relaxation if he caught the illness.

Right at that moment, Lorca felt it. An awful, consuming heat that started at his fingertips and within seconds hit his brain like a sledgehammer. He’d thought his heartbeat was accelerated before now? _What a joke._

Michael was getting dizzy, leaning on the wall beside the still-raving Stamets, and across the room Lorca could hear Tilly mocking a Tellarite cadet’s beady eyes. 

“I’ll kill you!” the Cadet fumed, sounding for all the world like Sarek had an hour before, when he tried to come at Lorca.

Tilly snorted. “That’s if you can find me, loser. How can you even see through all that fur?”

Michael sighed and pressed her palms to the wall. She never took her eyes off Gabriel.

Gulping down the crumpled sandpaper that seemed suddenly lodged in this throat, Lorca said hoarsely, “Try me, give me the first sample, the first version, whatever you think seems the best combination of drugs, just—” There was no way he was going to watch Michael keep sinking into this illness until it took her life, no way still others would suffer because he lacked the bravery to stick out his arm and take that needle. Gabriel yanked up his sleeve and thrust said arm at Becker and Adrian. “Go and make it, quick as you can, and bring it to me.”

“No, you don’t!” Michael exclaimed, eyes red-rimmed and mouth hanging agape once the words were out. She stumbled forward, blocking Lorca with her body. “Don’t touch him! It’s up to me to keep him safe.”

“Michael, don’t—” The room was spinning and Gabriel honestly had no idea what he was supposed to be saying. A puzzle piece seemed to drop into place in his mind, a truth so stunningly obvious that he just couldn’t fathom how he’d neglected to let it rule his existence up until now. He hit the floor, curled up in a tight ball and shut his eyes. Maybe then it would go away, _they_ would go away. They’d stop looking at him as if he knew what to do.

“This is bad,” Adrian repeated frantically, “So, so very bad.”

“I’ll say, pumpkin,” Becker concurred. “If you’ll pardon the question, Captain Lorca, just what are ya doin’?” She crouched beside him as Lorca squinted, then hid himself from the world again. 

_There. That’s better. Don’t look at me, don’t touch me—_

“Hey!” Michael pushed Becker aside and took Gabriel’s hand. “Leave him alone. What’s wrong?” She brushed her fingers through his hair and he just wanted to evaporate. He could never deserve her, this was all his fault somehow…it just had to be…everything was. 

“Ha-ha- _ha_ ,” Tilly’s voice piped up. She rounded on the Captain and Burnham, leveling them with her snide glare. “What the fuck got into you two twisted lovebots?” She spun in a circle, arms outstretched, and sang out, “Oh, yeah, by the way, they’re screwing!” Everyone was far too preoccupied with their own mania, or else actually sedated, but she grinned like she was in the middle of a marvelously successful comic routine before a packed house of loving fans.

“Look at yourself, Michael. So pathetic! Ugh. ‘Oh, Captain!’ I mean, God. Do you ever call him that in bed?” Sylvia kept her joker’s smile focused on Michael as the latter stood up to face her, arms crossed despite the way she almost toppled over in regaining full stature.

“Maybe! Sometimes!” Michael snipped pridefully. “That’s between Gabriel and me!”

“Is anyone else starting to hope we _don’t_ survive?” Paul said in a brief flash of lucidity. “The awkwardness is going to be…what was it you said, Nurse Stewart? Just so very bad. Then again, that’s nothing compared to the lightening bolt cutting right here, through the veins of our existence,” he ran his finger down the wall with the pride of an irrefutable prophet. “So, there’s that.”

Their faces were all burning, uniforms soaked and bodies trembling. “He’s right, but not for the reasons he thinks,” Gabriel declared shakily. “Come on, inject me. If it kills me, you’ll all be so much better off. Just like you were when the other Lorca died. Any version of me is more a disease than this could ever be.”

“Don’t talk like that!” Michael begged, stroking his face, only for Tilly to snicker and mimic her.

All Gabriel could see now was his parents — no, that wasn’t true because his brother and sister were there, too. He’d spent years trying to block them from his thoughts, and they were still laughing at him while they snuck off in the night, just as he’d always suspected. Not that he blamed them. And his crew…the Buran…the people he’d seen as his _true_ family, now wiped from existence because a transporter error had brought another Lorca to their ship. He’d punched in the coordinates, _he’d_ initiated the transport back to the Buran. _I’ve always known I’m to blame for all of it._

“Kill me,” he begged, almost drooling at the tempting thought. “Please, just help me escape this hell I’m living in. I’m dying anyway, we all are…”

“Is it ready?” From a thousand miles away, Gabriel could just about hear Daphne speaking to Adrian, the clicking sound of glass bottles followed by the suck of liquid up a hypospray. Then the sharp compression of the device locking onto human flesh, shooting the attempted cure into someone’s arm.

“Yes, but the Captain— _oh._ Well, alright, then. You could have asked me first, though.” Stewart was annoyed because…why did it even matter?

“I’ve been sweating profusely for the past five minutes, and I'm really angry with myself for not pursuing a career as a tap dancer,” Becker said bluntly. “If someone’s going to try this, it may as well be me.”

***************************************************************************************

“In cases like this, after a shared trauma, group therapy can solidify the bond between crew members while providing a wonderful catharsis as we guide each other to recovery.” Counselor Becker’s smile was designed to ease the tension among her recently cured patients, and it made Michael notice the way Daphne could shift from endearing humor to sincere kindness whenever either seemed best suited to assist those around her.

Stamets' dismissive eye-roll perfectly matched his confrontational posture as he crossed his arms even more smugly.

“Now, Lt. Stamets," Becker reasoned, "I do realize that this isn’t exactly your cup of tea; it’s more like your cup of arsenic, but please give me the benefit of the doubt and do your best to participate.” 

“Is this mandatory, Captain?” Paul snapped.

“Yes, it’s mandatory. I don’t think any of us are exactly thrilled that this is necessary, but it’s best that we follow our ship’s counselor’s advice on such matters. Walking around with trauma we haven’t made any attempt to process won’t make us much of an asset to the Federation. Don’t you agree?” Gabriel gave Stamets an authoritative look leaving no question that friends or not, this Captain would keep his crew in line as needed.

Lorca was fidgeting too, despite his uncharacteristically sharp rebuttal of Stamets’ negative remark. Michael thought he looked uncomfortable in his own skin and her fingers itched to comfort him. Even that instinct brought back the memory of her behavior in her sick state back on the planet below until she worried that the fierce need she felt to protect Lorca might not be as repressed as some of the other patients’ urges.

Tilly raised her hand, only to be quickly reminded that this wasn’t necessary. “Um, I just have to volunteer the remark that I am totally thrilled to be here.”

“Wonderful,” Lorca said with near-sarcastic breeziness. “Shall we begin, Counselor?”

“Well, why don’t we talk a little about how each of us are feeling after what we went through at the Science Academy?” Daphne smiled as if this should be easy and nodded to Michael. “Commander Burnham, would you like to get us started? You’ve been pretty quiet so far.”

_But it is so much easier sitting back and listening, taking in what you’re all saying and trying to figure myself out before I have to speak._

Still, Michael complied, folding and unfolding her hands, digging through her brain for appropriately reflective remarks. “I feel incredible relief, obviously, that we were able to work through the crisis so promptly, though I’m also still quite anxious that we have yet to identify the perpetrator of the virus. My own past experience with being targeted by Vulcan logic extremists makes me feel determined to do all I can to aid in the very investigation from which we have been blocked.”

“This sounds like a source of great frustration for you,” Becker guessed as Michael nodded.

“Yes.” The stress carved into Lorca’s features reflected her own agitation. He was making the same connection to her past and it concerned him until he reached out with a loving gaze. She had never felt so completely supported. Although her experiences with romance were limited, she knew this was something truly precious, even unusual, their affinity…

Something so sublimely attentive in the light of his eyes right then jolted a memory into sharp focus in her brain. It had to do with the man she hardly thought about anymore, or tried not to. Still smarting from his betrayal, she has been embarrassed by the ease with which he fooled her, tempting her with the premise of warm empathy, of seeing the good in her despite her mutiny…making her a pawn along with the rest of the crew.

The other Lorca. He’d had a look on his face just like that when he spoke about mirror universes and inevitability.

 _“Amazing, isn't it? Different universe, and somehow the same people had a way to find each other. The strongest argument I have ever seen for the existence of destiny.”_

Michael could still hear his smooth, trickster voice coding the words with his own special meaning. But it felt now like a sweet irony that he’d been right: she and Gabriel Lorca did feel fated, destinies utterly interlocked, souls entwined…

The memory made her understand something else more than she ever wanted to before. In his own deceptive, twisted way, the other Lorca _had_ loved her. This was what made her recognize Gabriel’s expression now. Coming from him, it meant so much more. It meant everything.

“You’re thinking very intently, very deeply about something just now,” Daphne observed, leaning back and crossing her legs. “Would you like to share some of it with us, Commander?”

“I haven’t been entirely forthcoming about the full spectrum of what I’m experiencing in attempting to process what we’ve gone through,” Michael admitted. “I find that I keep fixating on the quality I exhibited when I caught the virus, and it worries me.”

“Oh, God, me, too,” Tilly breathed out gratefully. “I mean, _big time._ ”

“That’s interesting,” Becker said, guiding them fluidly through the conversation, “And how about you, Captain, Lieutenant Commander?”

“Not really,” Stamets admitted, looking intrigued enough by the query that he was willing to drop his disapproval of therapy and take a look within to get the answer. “I think I’m sort of a unique specimen to this ordeal, given that I’ve gotten quite used to being driven bonkers by extreme outside circumstances that became very much _inward_. More specifically, for better or worse, this case doesn’t feel all that disturbing to me, mainly because I have had my personality tampered with before, and secondly because I’ve gone through so much lately that a problem like this most recent one seems…very manageable. Yes, it was a violation. But I’m almost numb because I have already lost so much. Wow, it’s kind of nice to have that be an advantage, have this bother me less than it probably should.” Paul frowned, realizing that he had started to relax into the counseling process. “Okay, that’s it, I’m not talking anymore.”

“Thank you for sharing those insights, Lt. Stamets, that was very brave,” Becker praised as Tilly patted Stamets’ knee reassuringly. He nodded at Sylvia and then shifted around uncomfortably.

“Can we _please_ move on? You were going to ask Captain Lorca about his experiences, right?” Paul flicked his hand like he was trying to compel the discussion away from him.

“Well, I think it’s only natural that we should be bothered by the latent tendencies we displayed. For me, it’s fresh proof that I haven’t properly dealt with my grief over the Buran. I have a bad habit of repressing trauma, trying to steamroll over it for emotional convenience’s sake, shield myself from pain I should let myself feel and react to. Closure has always been a foreign concept to me. And…under the virus, I was terrified, insecure, racked with guilt and memories of my crew. I can’t say this surprises me, but it brings into clarity the fact that I need to try harder to work on these feelings. It’s crucial that I don’t allow them to mount until they interfere with my ability to do my job.” Lorca looked around at the others as they thoughtfully considered his words. He shrugged. “That’s all I got.”

“Very insightful, Captain,” Becker said, turning immediately to Michael in a way that made her wonder at the Counselor’s reason for the instinctive transition.

“How does that make you feel, Commander, with regard to your own behavior while ill?” Daphne asked the question carefully, pushing her glasses up on her nose. “Please, if I’m pushing too hard, let me know. You are not obligated to answer any of these questions until you feel ready.”

“You mean because my normally hidden temptation to put Captain Lorca’s needs ahead of everything else took center stage down there,” Michael guessed, willing to play along although it was a painful thing with which to deal. As Gabriel had so aptly intimated, pretending these problems did not exist would only threaten their emotional stability moving forward. “I…I believe everyone in this room is essentially aware of the personal relationship between myself and the Captain, which cannot be divulged to the rest of the crew for obvious reasons. I am not sure if it is the need we have felt to conceal our more intimate bond, or simply the overpowering nature of the bond itself, but I think that knowing I gave into the urge to commit myself to his welfare in a recklessly myopic fashion…it scares me.”

It wasn’t his job, but Lorca clearly could not help blurting, “Why?”

Michael gazed at him, imploring him with her eyes to understand. “I think there’s a part of me, bigger than it should be, that wants to do that. And I worry that we could be on a mission, or caught in a crisis right here on the ship, where I could see you directly threatened and move to deal with that first, despite any other concerns that ought to be prioritized.”

Becker tapped her chin with one finger. “And Captain, do you share similar fears regarding your attachment to Commander Burnham and its potential impact on your command duties?”

Gabriel considered the idea more closely than ever. “Uh, yeah. I do. I think I can rise above it, but I can certainly identify with Michael’s concerns, because I don’t believe there is a way to one hundred percent know for sure that we would not be compromised in such a scenario. But I’d like to believe,” he added, his tone shifting from introspective sheepishness to a more positive and encouraging mode, “We’re strong enough to rise above those instincts, that we’re the kind of officers who are so committed to Starfleet values and to the lives of our crew…it’s far likelier we’d do the right thing. I even believe we can keep each other in line. One of the strengths of our relationship is that we balance each other. Maybe we can channel that to keep to the path.”

Michael would have kissed him right then if she could have. She could tell how moved he was at the depth of her affection, and she reciprocated the feeling in response to his soothing optimism. Yet, a new cloud crossed his face.

“Is there something else, Captain?” Daphne inquired.

Lorca gave a tight smile. “More something to be canvassed privately between Michael and myself. I think it’s time we heard from Ensign Tilly here,” he suggested. “She’s not used to being quiet for this long. Come on, Sylvia, let’s have it!” His usual bright manner was back, but Michael was dying to know what other matter he had put aside for later discussion with her.

“I work so hard at being nice,” Sylvia began, sighing hard and looking sulky. “I just can’t believe some of the things that came out of my mouth! Guys, I am so sorry.”

Paul chuckled drily. “I liked you mean.”

“Don’t try to tempt me into your tribe,” Tilly whined, but then she giggled.

“He might be onto something there,” Lorca proposed. “I could really use your help motivating the cadets in engineering. They _have_ been slacking.”

They all laughed then, and Becker looked at each of them very contemplatively. “There’s a remarkable warmth to this crew — now please don’t be offended by the statement, Lt. Stamets,” she added as soon as he tried to grunt the compliment away. “I mean it. As if your history together has made you especially well suited to helping one another through difficult times. It’s quite an inspiration and I think we’ve made real progress today. And now, I’ll let you get back to your duties,” she finished with a wink.

Just then, Lorca’s badge chirped. “Commander Saru to Captain Lorca,” the first officer said hastily, not waiting to be acknowledged before forging on. "We’ve just received an urgent message from Vulcan High Command. There’s been a bombing of the Science Academy and hospital.”


	11. Can you whisper, as it crumbles and breaks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a _lot_ of Gabriel and Michael, their relationship issues, and smuttier smut than previous chapters here...and a bit of significant plot, of course! What do you take me for? ;)
> 
> More of the other characters in Chapter 12.
> 
> ***************************************************************************************************************

Michael’s eyes shot to Lorca’s and they exchanged matching looks of dread spiked with new, uncanny suspicion.

“Sarek,” she mouthed, but no sound would come out. “Amanda.” Equally mute. She raised numb fingers to her heart, uncertain if Sarek had been released from the hospital by the time of this attack, guessing that if not, Amanda might have visited him there—

“Mister Saru, are Commander Burnham’s parents—” The words flew instinctively from Gabriel’s tongue as he squeezed Michael’s fingers, nodding in some sort of encouragement that it would be okay. He had no idea if anything was going to be okay.

“It was Ambassador Sarek who reached out to inform us of the details just after we detected the explosions. The Academy was by then almost entirely evacuated due to the viral crisis, but the Hospital was densely populated…casualties number in the hundreds, though the information is still being collected.”

Michael rushed to the door, then realized she had not waited for the Captain’s orders and glanced back breathlessly.

“Yes, go to the transporter room, I’m right behind you,” he bid eagerly. “Mister Saru, the ship is yours. Tilly, Stamets, you’re with us. Lorca to Sickbay — Nurse Stewart, report to the transporter room at once.”

The formerly tall, austere structure lay in a smoking shambles on the red dirt, the nauseating sight of body parts scattered all around making Lorca grab Michael by the shoulders and hug her close, other people around them be damned. He wasn’t doing it just to shield or comfort her, _he_ needed to hold her and be held right then. She let a broken sob out into his chest and he cast his eyes around, squinting until he noticed Sarek striding forward hand in hand with Amanda. The Ambassador was not given to public affection, but if the couple had not joined hands, climbing over the broken pieces of the building would have been nearly impossible. Lorca’s stomach turned violently at the horrific scene of human decay, trying to avoid the stench above all, but he did his best to put on a strong front as he guided Michael around to her father’s outstretched arms.

“I’m so glad you’re safe,” Michael cried, opening her arms still further to bring Amanda into the hug. Sarek closed his eyes, doing nothing to evade the embrace.

Gabriel watched as Adrian and his medical team stooped to assist the survivors, seeing Tilly and Stamets scanning the area with their tricorders. And as Sarek stepped forward, leaving Michael to clasp her mother’s hand reassuringly, the Ambassador’s face was grimmer than ever. 

“Captain Lorca, we are in the process of moving the survivors to another medical facility, but in accounting for the injured and the dead, we have yet to find a single sign of Ambassador V’lelaar. I must confess that even in the shock of this incident, I find that detail…significant.”

“I’ll take your significant detail and bring it up one more notch,” Lorca nodded. “Why would the logic extremists infect the premises with an illness _and then_ bomb it? Wouldn’t it be one or the other?”

“Are you saying that there may be multiple forces at work against us?” Sarek inquired, arcing a brow. “Have you any theories as to the identity of the second perpetrator?”

“There’s something here that we’re missing,” Michael contributed, stepping forward and rubbing her arms. Despite the thick grey air feeling like fire against their skins, shock racked her body with shivers. “Sarek, you need to see to these survivors, stand in at this desperate time to provide reassurance. Others will naturally look to you for guidance. And Mother, your bedside manner is surpassed by none. The victims will need your care. Together, you can give the people some sense that all hope is not lost.”

Sarek nodded. “You are right, Michael. I wonder if I should have been more trusting about your particular _talent_ for being right when I learned of…” He shook his head, looking from Michael to Gabriel, clearly thinking that he might have been wrong to so quickly condemn their relationship as doomed. “I shall see you both later.”

“I need to speak with you alone, now,” Michael told Lorca with quiet intensity. 

****************************************************************************************

“With an infestation or an illness,” Michael began in a low, emphatic tone as she and Gabriel sat down in her family’s kitchen, “There is an entity known as the secondary invader.”

“Yes, I’m familiar with that,” Lorca nodded, “It happens when the infected individual’s immune system is lowered enough that a second ailment is easily able to join the first.”

“That’s what I believe is happening here. And not just on Vulcan. This invasion has to do with Discovery, and I’ve felt it closing in on us almost from the moment of your arrival. Something is very deeply not right, Gabriel, and whoever is at the root of the larger conspiracy has a much more insidious plan in play than the idiotic racism of the logic extremists. Someone has been watching us, you and me in particular, for quite some time -- with a goal which I cannot fathom. I can feel my skin goose-bumping with the feeling of being slowly, cleverly stalked. And think of all we’ve been through in the meantime. Landry’s attack on the peace conference, her plan to avenge herself on us. The virus. The bombing. Event after event to make us so susceptible to the belief that another chaotic incident is right around every corner. That makes our acceptance of living in a state of emergency almost complacent. Anyone smart enough could sneak in their own machinations amidst these other crises without catching our attention until it's too late, unless we start getting even more vigilent.”

“And it follows then,” he posited, “That they are not _all_ chaotic events. The virus, for example, that wasn’t the work of the extremists. Doesn’t fit their M.O. For all their praise of logic, those people come on like a chainsaw every time they come to call. To get that virus out into the populace of the Academy so quickly, so precisely, it smacks of a different sort of perpetrator. The secondary invader.”

Michael knew he would be quick to understand her meaning, as much as she had expected him to be incapable of accusing her of paranoia. After all, if there was one feeling instilled in them through recent months, it was the idea that the least iota of paranoia about danger lurking was most likely valid.

She pressed her lips together, then took a deep breath, dreading the necessity of admitting something difficult next: that she had kept certain things from him. Frustration at herself for being too concerned over his mental state to trust him properly rankled her nerves. 

“What?” Lorca asked, tilting his head to one side, brow furrowed at her worrisome look.

“I lied to you. By omission. The incident in our quarters, when someone cut off the tops of the flowers you gave me…it was not isolated. Whoever did that has been communicating with me ever since.” Her brown eyes went large as his blue ones narrowed, his hand which had been covering her fingers on the table suddenly drawing back. The hurt and betrayal flickered across Lorca’s face as Michael felt tears stinging her eyes, still sore from the smoke outside. 

“What did they do?” His tone was clipped now, almost robotic, and he withdrew his eye contact as well, focusing on the back corner of the ceiling, processing her words. Michael swallowed back more tears, willing herself to be strong although the loss of his gaze wounded her harshly. 

“That day I went back to my own quarters to collect some things of mine and come back to you…my bathtub was filled with blood.”

“ _Blood?_ ” Lorca sat bolt upright, glaring at her. “And you didn’t tell me this until now, weeks later?”

“It wasn’t real…it was only synthetic blood.” Michael knew the meaning behind his anger, his frustration at not being able to save her from the disturbing incidents, his confusion about why she held the information back. “And at other times…the pips were stolen from my uniform, so I had to replace them. A trail of dead, crushed petals on your dresser, where the vase holding the bouquet from you had been. I swept them up, drained it all away, hid it because I wanted to figure it out for myself. You have _enough_ weighing on you, Gabriel. And I tend to draw trouble like a magnet. I’m used to it. I thought I could manage…but my quiet investigation simply hasn’t yielded any satisfactory clues. Now, with the virus, I have to wonder, without knowing why they would do any of this — is it the same person who has been stalking me?”

He was numb, in Captain mode. “I’d say this person clearly has a major problem with our relationship. And they have targeted you, likely out of romantic obsession or jealousy. They’re extremely intelligent, able to get in and out of locked private quarters without being caught or leaving a trace of themselves behind. It does seem to match the skill set of someone who could be responsible for the viral outbreak. Thank you for giving me this new insight into the matter. I can follow up from here.”

He stood, swiping an itch on his cheek and looking down at the smoky ashes that came away on his fingers. Rolling his shoulders back and then perching his fingers on the table, he seemed to search within himself for the words to confront Michael more specifically about her deception. He shook his head, still unable to articulate his feelings, and paced the room, eventually whipping off the overshirt of his uniform and yanking his t-shirt from the waistband of his trousers.

“You didn’t think I could handle knowing about this, why?” Finally, his question broke from his lips, his expression defensive but not perplexed. As if his inquiry, ultimately, was self-explanatory, prompting him to add, “You have doubts about my my ability to cope with a threat against you? Because of the Buran.”

Michael stepped a bit closer to him, reaching her hands up to touch his arms, but uncertainty as to whether he would allow this caused her to drop them. “Yes.”

Her face crumpled then, and she added with a voice run ragged by fire and fear, “Because do you know how I would feel if I went through what you did? If my entire ship, all of my crew were destroyed and I was flung — _there_ , into that hell? I spent days there and I thought being in that world was going to kill me. You were there for a _year_ , all the while letting yourself hope, just as I would, that your crew were fine. That hope must have carried you through so much, and when you got back here just to have it taken away, to know that _they_ , your crew, your family had been taken away from you? How well _could_ you deal with me being threatened? And how in the hell could I bear to put that on you?”

Lorca held on tightly to the chair back. “That’s all true, fine. I get it. But I am your _Captain_ , Michael. You don’t get to make executive decisions about a threat on my damn ship, not _ever._ Furthermore…” His jaw clenched and he still would not look at her. “I am your lover, and you don’t get to rob me of the chance to make sure that you are safe. Not.” He finally looked at her, fiercely disappointed. “Ever.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, forcing her voice a little louder to say, as her fingertips pressed into the table, their bodies inches and worlds apart, “From the moment you crash landed on the bridge of the Discovery, I knew I was going to love you. I saw the pain and the courage in you, the _goodness_ , your resilience and humor and the armor you put inside yourself between your duty and your grief. Insulating the hurt so that you can go _on._ We both know you have to rip that armor out or you’ll never move on from your losses. Until that day comes, how can I help feeling so overpoweringly urged to protect you?”

“I get it, Michael,” he repeated, not remotely immune to her words of deep affection, the conflict in him coming through as he shifted his grip on the chair and shook his head again, face dropped before he straightened to tell her, “But I’m not going to break. And if you don’t stop lying to me, we _will_ break.”

“Gabriel,” she sighed heavily, but he kept talking over her guilt and her apology.

"What makes your trauma any less severe or compromising than mine? We just left the scene of a bombing just like the one that _killed_ you as a child. I know how _you_ must be feeling, how--" The thought of this choked him up and he turned away. "What do I do right now? Do I hold you like I want to, do I reprimand the living daylights out of you like I should? What?"

She saw his point, saw the pattern of her believing she _had_ to be the bravest one, especially when it came to him, to internalizing her problems supposedly to shield him. She'd told herself she could take it all in stride but that was egotistically short-sighted.

“I need to inform Sarek that we have another suspect in the bio attack,” Lorca said firmly, but then he paused, that awful, knowing, joyless smile jerking his lips up. “He already knows, doesn’t he? You told him. You told him everything about the stalker, just didn’t tell me.”

She nodded. “I’m…”

“I know that. But if you ever go around me like that again, I’ll have you court martialed. Inhibiting my ability to properly investigate a matter under my direct purview, undercutting my authority, God, Michael, when are you going to grow the hell up and stop thinking you know better than anyone else? That you’re the only one who knows what to do? When are you gonna trust me?” He turned away, walking to the door, wresting it open and falling into quieter despair. “I need to be alone for a while.”

He did not slam the door, and she felt a million times worse than if he had.

*************************************************************************************************

 _He’s right, dammit._ Michael took the stairs two at a time to her room, and she _did_ slam the door, enraged at herself and the mistake of lying to him which in hindsight was so obvious that she thought she might never forgive herself. She threw her tired body back against the door, then slid down to the rug, sobs starting to heave her chest. She cried for the student whose life was claimed by the virus, for the dead bodies left in the bomb's wake, for the mistakes she had made with Lorca...If she had ruined their bond, compromised his trust in her by showing him so little of her own, what would become of them?

She suddenly hated the sight of her sullied hands, hated herself fleetingly for the wretched metaphor of them, but by the time she had hurled herself into the bathroom and weepingly pulled off her clothes, she saw the situation more clearly. Turning on the shower with shaking fingers, she stepped in and let the hot water cleanse her of the day’s horrors, however firmly they stuck to her heart and soul. _I lied because I love him so much. I love him so much. I love…_

There was no evil in her mistakes, only an overprotectiveness of Gabriel which she had not properly dealt with, so that it expressed itself too forcibly. She could confront that feeling within herself and find a way to accept that if they were going to make this work, they had to share everything. She could not save everyone by herself; perhaps that was one lesson of her mutiny and of this more recent deception. _But we can save each other. If we can get past this…if it isn’t too late…._

“Michael?” She heard Gabriel call her as he came into her room, just as she was shutting the water off. And when she heard the door creaking open, she could almost laugh with gratitude at her mother’s fondness for Earth antiques which had led to the house being installed with old-fashioned doors instead of the sort that slid fluidly, almost soundlessly open and shut. 

“I’m in here,” she called back a little brokenly. He did not hesitate, but came in directly and stood there speechless, gazing at her as if his time alone, for as much sand as he’d kicked or however many swears he’d muttered, had provided him no answers. Only finding her again could do that. Michael stared back, reaching automatically to turn the water back on, sliding the glass shower door open and reaching her dripping arms out to him.

Lorca shed his clothes and joined her, folding her into his embrace as the water cascaded over them. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I don’t want to fight anymore.”

She surprised herself by laughing a little then, stroking her wet hands over his shoulder blades before reaching up to ruffle his hair. “I don’t think it works that way, Gabriel. I was still wrong and you were still damaged and not properly addressing your grief, and we still have a lot to deal with.” 

“I know,” he admitted, kissing her forehead, his hands resting at the small of her back as she smoothed her palms over his chest, rubbing over his shoulders. “Can we just…agree to be honest with each other from now on?”

She nodded. “Yes. I need to stop making decisions on your behalf. You’re right that I go too far, that I overstep…it’s damaging.”

“And _you’re_ right that I need to go somewhere and just trash a room, throw plates at a wall, punch a dummy until my knuckles bleed, scream until I can’t speak, whatever it’s gonna take. I have to let myself fully understand that they are gone. I never have, you know? Even my parents, my siblings, I tried to keep blocking it out. Same with the Buran. I have to stop doing that…it’s just as damaging. I need to be able to move on. For us.” 

Gabriel looked into her eyes, blinking as the shower water tried to sneak into his, then he caressed her cheek, fully looking at her naked, vulnerable loveliness, from the way the steam had made her hair full and even softer than ever, to the rivulets slipping over her pert breasts, down her smooth stomach. His slow smile was full of so much love that it took her breath away.

And she looked back at him, wetting a cloth and squeezing soap onto it, dragging it over his firm biceps, across his chest where his heart pounded as he watched her every move, still not able to predict that she would bop his nose, leaving foamy soap there and making them laugh. The ash and smoke from outside was soon washed away from Lorca’s skin, and then he tipped his face to hers and tenderly kissed her lips. 

“We’re both damaged,” Michael reminded him, “And that’s okay. I think it makes you even more beautiful, that damage, the baggage you thought might make me run. I will _never_ run, no matter what other mistakes I make. Do you understand?” He nodded, but before he could reply, she continued impulsively, “And please don’t want to heal from your trauma just for us. Do it for you, first and foremost.”

“Mmmmmm….” He considered her words with a wry smile. “Nah. I’m gonna do it for us. There’s no version of my future that doesn’t include you, Michael.” 

Gabriel turned the water off, then swept her off her feet as she giggled, pretending to object. “What are you _doing?_ We’re soaked!”

He carried her to the bedroom, pulling the sheets down and nestling her within them before joining her, resting his body between her hips as her arms encircled his back, as they kissed more feverishly. All the tragedy and stress and madness swirling around them just made the urge to love each other rage stronger, just made them more mad for this, the hungry grinding of their bodies, the insatiable kissing, _everything._

Foggily, he seemed to recall that she’d asked him a question, and as she wrapped her legs around his hips, he murmured, “I love you, that’s what I’m doing.” 

“This…is no time…” Michael pointed out with feeble logic, biting his neck as her hands roved over his damp back and landed on his ass.

“Oh, okay,” Lorca drawled provocatively while dancing his fingers teasingly over her slit, “I’ll stop.” 

“Shut up,” she entreated huskily, moving her hips up in time with his increasingly deliberate touch. When he slipped a finger inside and started teasing her, the tension made Michael snap, too impatient for his foreplay this time, no matter how deliciously good he was at it…this wasn’t like the other times they had made love. 

This was in the middle of an unresolved argument, their first since becoming a couple. This was bad timing, bombs and dust and fire, sweat and water and the impossible chemistry between them surging ever more insistently the harder life tried to split them apart.

“I want you inside me,” she said in a ragged plea. “Call me baby.”

He kissed all over her face, slow and soothing, almost torturous and somehow just right. Removing his fingers, then slicking his erection up and down at her entrance, he murmured, “Alright, baby. You can have whatever you need.”

Gabriel began pressing inside her, moaning softly at her pulsing tightness, and Michael watched him intently, watched his body sliding against hers, gradual and tender, as he filled her and made her core, her hips and belly ache with his thick length gliding in and out. 

His slowly building rhythm inevitably started to play games with his own patience until he pulled out and flipped her over, making Michael gasp and grab onto the pillow, lifting her hips for him to hold as he slid back inside her. He held her by one hip, snaking his other arm underneath her to lift her fully onto her hands and knees, and then he cupped her breasts, toyed with her nipples until Michael’s nails almost penetrated the pillowcase with the force of her grip.

“Let it out, tell me how it feels,” he entreated, unable to resist picking up speed, fucking her harder and faster as the sound of their wet skin slapping together made her head spin.

Michael couldn’t remember any words, so she just gave vent to her moans, realizing that some foolish impulse of pride over their precarious emotional state had her holding her vocalizations back despite her own request to hear him express his love. There was no place for one-sided honesty in this, and she let go of the concept fully, losing her breath as he jerked her body more aggressively back against him, making electric thrills shoot through her until his member was so coated with her juices that the depth he could reach made him let out animalistic groans. That only made her feel better, stronger, weaker in this, everything she needed. 

Although her orgasm had been steadily building, it shocked her when it hit, when he slammed into her again and sighed her name, the sweet, dirty earnestness of their bond driving her crazy, this time until she clamped down on him, pleasure exploding and loosening her fingers. Michael would have fallen flat on her face if he hadn’t held her up by her belly, continuing to fuck her and making the waves of her orgasm roll over her longer, more sharply, until he hissed with his release. “ _God!_ Yes, baby, yes…” He pulled in and out, immersing them both, shuddering as his load shot into her, fastening his fingers to her bottom and leaving indentations on her soft cheeks.

He laid down beside her as she curled up on her side, his arms snugly holding her, pressed against her breasts, his leg flung over her needily. The sheets were soaked with shower water, sweat, and Michael, the smell of sex in the air so obvious that under other circumstances, in a typically reserved mood, she would have blushed.

“What are we doing?” Lorca asked, kissing her neck, her ear, sinking his teeth into her shoulder. 

“I thought you answered that,” Michael said, her heart still galloping, voice breathy. “No matter what else we are, we are together. Right?”

“Right.” He kept lavishing her neck with warm, open-mouthed kisses and she just wanted to melt, forget everything else. But to her surprise, some strain of rationality made him ask, “Weren’t you discounting my willing participation in PTSD therapy when you assumed I couldn’t handle knowing about your stalker?”

“Gabriel.” Michael rolled her eyes, turning towards him, crushing their naked chests together as her fingers slipped into his damp hair, straightening the adorable disheveled state of it. “How honest were you with Counselor Becker about the Buran, about how you feel, really?”

“Dammit, Michael.” He gave into her difficult question. “You’re right. I held back. I couldn’t…I just couldn’t tell her specifically how it is when I see their faces, it’s….it’s too much. And I couldn’t. Maybe I can’t.”

She nodded, kissing his cheek, cupping his face in her hands. “I want to tell you that you have to, but I also want to keep you safe from those feelings forever. Don’t you see how hard it is to know what to do with myself under those circumstances?”

“Just be you, but let me in despite the risks. Let me in when I need to know, when I’ve got to be there and of course when it's my _job_ to take charge of the situation. Promise me that?” He closed his eyes, leaning in to rest his forehead against hers, silently begging her to agree.

“Yes. I promise,” she agreed. “Let’s try to move forward.” 

They lay there for some time longer, Michael eventually nudging him onto his back so that she could nestle into his chest while his strong arms enfolded her. “Vulcan High Command is seemingly corrupted," she said, thinking out loud. "The whole upper structure of the government is going to undergo impeachment level revision if the investigation turns up the proof I’d expect about this bombing.” 

“I’ll get in touch with Starfleet Command,” Lorca decided, rubbing her back, neither of them wanting to move although the sheets were slightly cold. Their limbs were still heavy, numb and buzzing, the perfect togetherness of the encounter making them reluctant to end it for any small, inconvenient detail. “I think Discovery should stick around until this matter is resolved. With any luck, we can support the Vulcans through this regime change _and_ finally root out the terrorists, give the victims the justice they deserve.”

“If we’re staying on Vulcan for a while, then in the meantime we should be able to address other matters, such as our secondary invader…” Michael traced circles on his chest, letting him fill in the rest of the sentence.

“Mmhmm, and for me to continue my therapy with a bit more commitment, perhaps look for other outlets to deal with my grief. Good advice. You know, when you open up and stop trying to save me from myself, you take awfully good care of me, Michael Burnham.” He looked down at her with dual amusement and adoration.

Gazing back up at him, Michael smiled much less mysteriously than usual. “You _always_ take care of me, Gabriel. How can I help wanting to return the favor?”

“You know…there’s a _thing_ people do sometimes, when they want to take care of each other forever…” His sexy accent traipsed over the words that make Michael grin and groan at the same time.

“Oh, not that again,” she complained, a little too pleased about it. “Not now, when we just barely overcame some serious issues that _still_ need time and work to be fully resolved.”

“Now, of all times, Michael. Come on, when are we not gonna have issues?” He stuck out his bottom lip, his eyes glowing with playful adoration until she looked up and batted his arm.

“Do _not_ pout at me, Gabriel.” She issued the warning despite a giggle that escaped her throat, her finger pointed at his tempting, warm, firm chest until she got distracted.

“Marry me, baby,” he asked, then pouted even more profoundly until she rolled fully onto his body and sat up, straddling him.

“Captain, I think I made it clear that when you find a way to propose which is even remotely appropriate or believable, I will consider the matter in the same spirit.” She lifted her eyebrows as his hands flew automatically to her waist, fingers stroking the sides of her stomach until she felt moisture seeping from her center again, shivers delectably rolling down her spine. It was his touch, yes…and the way he looked at her with every loving and mischievous thought in his mind on blatant display.

“Call me Captain again while I’m doing what I’m about to do to you, and I think you’ll find my enthusiasm contagious,” he suggested wickedly, smirking.

“Yes,” Michael purred, tracing his mouth, stroking his thigh, “ _Sir._ ”


	12. Young Blood

“Cut that out,” Lorca said slightly breathlessly as he raced Michael down the Discovery corridor, looking back over his shoulder as she lagged incrementally behind.

“What do you mean?” Michael raised an eyebrow with the tiniest smile designed to drive him as crazy as ever. 

He started jogging backwards until they were right beside each other. “Letting me win,” he accused her with a pointed look. “You don’t have to go easy on me just because…you know.”

“Oh? Do I know?” She stopped and took a sip of water, passing him the bottle. 

“Mmmhmm,” Gabriel smirked, pouring a stream of cold water into his mouth and handing the bottle back to her. “‘Cause I’m…I’m older than you.”

“You _are_?” Michael laid a hand on her heart but the giggles trying to escape her lips were getting too strong to keep in. 

Lorca glanced around to make sure they were still alone. Then he walked towards her as she backed into the wall, flirtatious and teasing gazes colliding. 

“We never really talk about our age difference,” he pointed out, wiping water and a thin line of sweat from his lip. Michael’s eyes grazed his broad, muscular torso through his DISCO t-shirt and then slid easily down over his hips. 

“I suppose you’re wondering what I would have to say about it,” Michael observed, pretty brown eyes sparkling, elegant fingers pressing into the wall beside her own hips. 

_What_ would _I say about how much older he is?_

Of course she had considered the matter on plenty of occasions, from the first moment she admitted to herself how attracted she was. Was he _too_ much older? Could they still logically be a good match? Might his wider range of experience in…many matters actually be a positive attribute? To what extent would the gap in their ages be an issue the older they got? All valid questions, but none of them had really contributed to her decision to be with him.

“Your age…” Michael looked at him a bit more seriously, though her lips were still softly smiling. “It’s part of who you are, the experiences that made you. And as for you being a bit older…”

_It’s…sexy as hell. Intriguing. Maybe it seemed a little wrong at first and that just made me want you more._

Michael had become quite distracted from her morning exercise regime by now. Her heartbeat skittered and it had nothing to do with the number of laps they’d run. But she was used to this by now: Lorca’s effect on her, as easy for him to exude as the smoothly confident command he held over the crew.He looked at her with an intent curiosity, a tiny glimmer of insecurity underneath, enough to let her know he was slightly, even subconsciously worried that she might not want to stay with him longterm due to the age issue. Perhaps that was something he worried about more in the past, before they were quite this close. But some bit of the concern that it could be a detrimental factor in her attraction to him lingered, lightly creasing his brow, glowing bright in his gaze. Those eyes…like liquid crystal…it seemed to her that color shouldn’t even exist.

How could he ever doubt how perfect he was to her in every line, crinkle, supposed imperfection?

“I like it,” Michael finished definitively, emphatically. 

She took another casual sip of water and flitted her eyes to the left to let him know, in case he didn’t notice, that several fellow officers just turned the corner, walking in their direction. But Lorca sensed their arrival on his own and stepped back from her a few paces.

He rubbed the back of his head, eyes averted as he nodded to their crewmates, greeting them briskly by name. When they had passed by, Lorca looked back to Michael with an adorably endearing expression, like he could not believe his luck.

“Really? You like it?” He stepped just a little closer again and with one hand barely grazed her wrist, making shivers run down her spine. 

Michael pushed off the wall and looked around again before quickly slapping his ass and running away. “See if you can catch me this time, old man!” she laughed, amazed as always at this more playfully effusive side of her he drew out so easily. 

But she didn’t count on him choosing to run in the opposite direction so that they would end up charging directly at one another when they each came back around. His plan did depend slightly on the chance they would be undisturbed upon their reunion, but luck shone upon them again.

Before Michael even knew what hit her, he had. Gabriel took advantage of their collision course to sweep her into an enormous hug, picking her up off the ground and spinning her around as she laughed hysterically, tears streaming from her eyes.

“I can always just use tricks to win. You don’t have to hold back on my account,” he said between irrepressible chuckles of his own. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Michael accused when he set her down, his hands lingering at her waist, thumbs reaching momentarily beneath the hem of her t-shirt to caress her bare back.

His smile faded and he nodded to the door beside her. Presently unoccupied guest quarters. An excited heat tightened at her center and she looked at him in mild astonishment. _Here? Now?_

Gabriel’s only reply was that “I’m going to kiss you, hot and deep, the millisecond we’re alone” look that made Michael’s fingers reach under his arm to brush the console and open the door. 

She slipped inside and he followed her, leaving the lights off and the space dim. Automatically, she pressed her back against the wall again, especially since they had not taken full advantage of the position a few minutes before. 

“I’m ridiculously in love with you,” Gabriel admitted, cupping her face and claiming her lips, opening up that flower deep inside her which seemed to bloom only for him. Her arms encircled his neck and she rubbed her fingers through his slightly sweat-dampened hair as his hands clamped onto her hips, brushing their lower bodies together while their tongues tangled.

“Captain, this is no time,” Michael reminded him, taking his hand from her hip and lifting to her lips, softly kissing each finger until his eyes closed.

“It’s never the time,” he countered, “But you’re right.” He blinked and nodded, “We need to get to the bridge. The reorganization of Vulcan high command has gone better than we would have hoped, but with the former administrator still missing under suspicion of being in collusion with the logic extremists…we gotta wonder how long this peaceful state of healing will last.”

He could just as easily be talking about Discovery’s crew and their ever precarious sense of safety and recovery from one moment to the next. They’d been to hell and back — their current Captain on a different trajectory till recently, but still bonded in that same trauma of the Klingon war and Terran Empire crisis — and still a stalker slinked among them, continuing to eluding their investigations. Still a straightforward science mission yielded terrorist attacks that necessitated changes of unimagined importance in the lives of every Vulcan. Still they could never really relax and breathe and believe it would all be okay. 

_It’s never the time._

“Were you surprised by Sarek’s decision to remain in his current stead rather than ascending the ranks as so many wished and expected?” Michael’s mind shifted slightly to another matter, one less disturbing and more focused on her continuing attempts to help Lorca understand his potential future father-in-law.

Not that Michael and Gabriel were engaged yet…but one of these days he was going to get that proposal just right, she knew. And she was going to say yes. Michael wondered if he knew that, was sure at all of her positive answer about marrying him. So many times she almost told him but then, wouldn’t that suck the magical suspense out of the big moment whenever it did arrive?

Gabriel rubbed up and down Michael’s arms, their postures shifting from seductive to comforting, thoughtful.

“Not especially,” he answered “Sarek has no desire to lead; his nature is to be the smartest person in the room _supporting_ the leader. He feels he has a real difference to make in that stead and I think he’s right.”

“It makes me think…” Michael probably shouldn’t have said the beginning of that sentence aloud. She’d flashed back to a recent conversation with Sylvia, wherein the latter’s eyes had all of a sudden gone huge as she asked, _”Oh my god, do you think you have daddy issues?_ ”

The only result Tilly had reaped from that question was being pelted with green beans until she had to use her tray as a shield.

But the more Michael thought about it, perhaps there was a part of her that craved an older, authoritative man in her life romantically, having a hole in her heart left lonely by the loss of her father. Of course, Sarek’s genuine but coldly expressed affection could never fill that hole within her, not the way Amanda’s presence had eventually soothed the horror of grief over her mother’s death. Weren’t factors like these supposedly involved when people chose a partner significantly older than themselves?

Sarek and Gabriel couldn’t have been less alike in anything other than intelligence and goodness. Michael did not know the real answer to Sylvia’s question beyond this: whatever the many reasons why she loved Gabriel and needed him so badly, they all seem tangled up together into one messy but cohesive whole. There was no putting her attraction down to any one simple factor. It was everything about him, drawn to everything about her, and vice versa.

“Well, that’s you, Michael Burnham,” he said fondly, noticing by the way she trailed off that she preferred not to elaborate after all. “Always thinking.”

True. She was always thinking and he was always feeling. They were both big-hearted and intellectually gifted, but there could be no question which instinct each of them led with.

With a grateful smile, she reached up and squeezed his arms. Perhaps she couldn’t throw him down on the bed behind them so they could peel each other’s sweaty clothes off right then, but she could certainly take a moment to appreciate his biceps and think about him gripping her later.

“Hey,” she added, knowing they had to go soon, but guessing there was still time for a brief check-in on another important matter. “How is it going with Counselor Becker these days? Are you feeling any more resolved about…”

“About the Buran? Or my childhood issues? Honestly, baby, no.” He gave a rueful shake of his head as if he blamed himself. “I’m trying harder than ever, and Daphne has been wonderful, but I can’t… _connect_ with the emotion enough to let it all the way out. She thinks one day I’ll snap and it will just open the floodgates. But I’m still afraid of the risk that snapping without warning could cause…without any real way to actually prevent it.”

Michael cupped his face in her hands, stroking his jawline, his stubble tickling her fingers. “I love you for trying. You are so brave to keep working on something like this when every bone in your body screams to keep it repressed. I know that. And I should, since I am the one who refused to stop hassling you about it.”

“You were right, Michael. And you’ve kept to your side of our deal: no more secrets.” Gabriel smiled, slightly relaxed by her encouragement. 

“No more secrets,” she agreed, lifting on her toes to kiss his lips as his arms went around her, sliding down to the small of her back as their mouths parted automatically and with a small, almost painful moan she forced herself to draw back. 

“I know,” he groaned, “Believe me, I know. Guess I better go hit the showers, _solo,_ or else I’ll _never_ get up to the bridge on time,” Lorca pouted.

“I told you to stop that pouting,” Michael chortled, leading the way as they reentered the corridor.

“And if I don’t?” Gabriel asked slyly, heading for his quarters. 

“I’ll just have to cheer you up later, Sir.” She kept her eyes focused on the view of the winding wall ahead of them, but her smile was again impossible to contain.

“You saucy little—” 

She glanced at Lorca and their eyes caught again, right before Lt. Stamets appeared from his lab as they passed it. 

“Oh. The two of you.” Paul rolled his eyes and continued, “Please, can you also use your eyes to put each other’s clothes back _on_? I’ve got something genuinely awesome to show you.” With that last statement, his face lit up with more excitement than Michael had seen from him in months.

“Is it about the spore drive?” Lorca guessed, immediately intrigued, paying no heed to Stamet’s sassy comment about him and Michael.

“ _Yes,_ ” Stamets confirmed, “but let’s swing by Sick Bay, Captain — I really want to have Nurse Stewart present for this explanation.”

It turned out that Adrian had minored in plant biology at the Academy and had always been intensely fascinated with the mycelial drive and its inner workings. Paul had taken the younger officer under his wing and they had collaborated on new theories of using a non-sentient host to navigate the drive. 

Gabriel nodded, adding, “We can stay for a brief presentation, Lieutenant, and then I’ve honestly got to get to the bridge before poor Commander Saru falls asleep on his feet.”

“Do you two think you’ve arrived at a viable way we can use the spore drive without having to endanger a living host?” Michael asked as the doors to sickbay opened. 

Then she almost bumped into Paul, who stopped short in his tracks as he led them in. Turning around immediately, Stamets brushed past Michael and Gabriel, a strange, blank look on his face.

“I’m sorry,” Paul said in a hollow, frigid tone, “But I can’t. I just, I just can’t. Not again.”

“Paul,” Lorca blurted, but Stamets was already stumbling away down the corridor. Michael almost went to him, but Gabriel grabbed her arm.

She followed him to the center of the room, where Adrian Stewart’s body lay on the floor, a shining pool of blood still wet behind his head. Gabriel crouched down and pressed his fingers to Adrian’s neck. 

“Still a pulse,” he said briskly, getting up to stride to the nearest control panel and patch into ship-wide comms. 

“This is the Captain,” Lorca’s voice boomed. Michael sat by Adrian, holding his hand and trying to hold herself together. “All medical personnel to Sick Bay immediately. Officer down.” Michael knew he had to be thinking of going to a yellow or even red alert, but he only added, “General Quarters Security Condition Three. Everyone be on guard and keep your eyes and phasers alert but no panicking. Someone attacked Nurse Stewart and they’re still on board.”

He jerked his hand from the console, rage etched all over his face. “Not my crew,” he spat, eyes narrowed as he stared at Adrian’s prone body. Then he muttered it, looking as if he would most certainly kill whoever did this with his bare hands. “Not my crew.”

But it still didn’t happen, that explosion of anger and grief he’d feared was inevitable. This was not the trigger. Lorca took several deep breaths and then the med team were there, lifting Stewart to a table.

Michael knew Lorca couldn’t say over shipwide comms that Adrian had survived, as the assailant was certainly listening. Therefore…

“Someone’s got to tell Stamets that…” Michael began, causing Lorca to nod his approval.

“Go.” 

He stood watching as Adrian’s head wound was cauterized, the rough bludgeon mark eventually cleaned and sealed beneath his auburn hair, and Michael paused long enough to say, “Gabriel, if Stewart doesn’t survive, I don’t know how we’re going to weather this.” He knew that by “we,” she meant the crew, the family that was Discovery.

“Me neither, but I do know this. Whatever way this goes, you and me, we’ve got to put on our bravest faces and power through. Show the others there’s a way forward even if we can’t see it ourselves.” His voice never wavered. 

“Aye Aye, Sir,” Michael said softly, leaving him behind and setting out to find Paul.

****************************************************************************************************

Stamets was in the lab, hard at work as if nothing unusual had occurred.

“He’s alive,” Michael announced as she came rushing in. 

Paul looked up and gave a tiny nod. Tears sprang into his eyes. “Thanks, Burnham.” 

He looked down at the readings at his computer station and explained matter-of-factly, “I knew it. They were after our research. These files have been wiped clean and you can bet the attacker copied every line before erasing them from our databases.” His jaw twitched and Michael felt a shiver of panic. 

The perpetrator could be the same person they’d been trying to hunt down: her stalker. But who among them would target Michael _and_ the mycelium drive? And why? 

“There were plenty of other ways to get Stewart’s DNA for the identity check on the files,” Michael murmured, perplexed. Then a thought snapped into place. “Stewart caught the attacker somewhere…they weren’t supposed to be, doing something odd, wrong — enough to raise suspicion.”

“He’s a good kid,” Stamets replied, staring down at the console, his fingers rapidly working the controls as his eyes held the same violence of emotion which Lorca’s voice did when he muttered, _“Not my crew.”_ “Shy. Smarter than he thinks, more capable. An out of the box thinker, in fact, which surprised me very pleasantly. And most importantly, he laughed at my puns.”

“ _Your_ puns? You’re right,” Michael said with a smile, “He does sound unusual.”

Stamets gave a hollow chuckle and looked at Michael confrontationally. “I take on a protege and he’s bludgeoned days later. Everything I touch—”

Michael walked to him and rested a soothing hand on his shoulder. “Don’t say it,” she interrupted. “We _all_ have some version of that, some reason to feel doomed, but—”

“We _are_ doomed, Burnham! Look around you, look at this ship! Another day, another crisis — _Discovery_? We’re the Flying Dutchman. And one of these days the ghosts just might consume us all.”

He jabbed his finger up in the air when she opened her mouth to reply. 

“No!” Stamets interrupted, “I see that brilliant, insightful look on your face, and I know what you’re about to do. Go off on one of your inspirational speeches about how we never thought we’d end the war, or get out of the Mirror universe in one piece, or find each other, and — dammit. You know what the worst part is? You’re right.”

“I didn’t say it this time,” Michael said a bit tearfully. “That means _you’re_ right.” 

“Shut up, Burnham,” Stamets grumbled with the universe’s tiniest smile just as the lab doors parted to admit Tilly.

“Guys!” she gushed, running to embrace her two friends, who indulged her briefly. “Did you hear? I mean, no of course you didn’t because they haven’t—“

“This is Cap’n Lorca,” Gabriel’s voice chimed from the ship-wide comms again. “Security sweeps have revealed no sign of an intruder still aboard Discovery. We’re going to speak with the Vulcan interim administration about expanding our search for this criminal to the surface. Updates will continue as the situation develops.”

“That,” Tilly nodded. “Though of course the Captain’s being a bit sly. Cause he does that.” She leaned her elbows on a dormant console, her eyes tired at the newest drama.

“He is assuming that if the intruder is still aboard, they may feel safe to move around again because we’re no longer looking for them on Discovery,” Michael put in, massaging her neck with both hands. 

It was more than a little crazy, learning to live with the constant uncanny sensation of potentially being watched and marked as prey, but she supposed her time in the Mirror Universe had prepared her for this experience.

“That’s where they’re wrong,” Stamets announced, crossing his arms as his brow furrowed. “I have a few ideas on how we can track this individual down. Especially since they think they’re so much smarter than us, they’ve managed to piss me off substantially. Being pissed off gets me proactive and ready to be reciprocally tricky.”

“Hell yeah,” Tilly agreed, her exhausted posture shifting as she stood and grinned, fired up by Stamets’ proclamation. “We’re mad as hell and ready to beat this asshat at their own game.” She raised her hand to Stamets for a high five as he shook his head.

“I’ll talk to the Captain. It might be a good idea for you to conduct your uniquely…tricky investigation covertly, without even coordinating with Security,” Michael proposed. “Meanwhile, I’d like to head up the inquiry on Vulcan. Whoever this is, they’ve caused almost enough trouble out there as they have in here.”

The three of them looked at each other, bonded more than ever by the resolution that by this time tomorrow, they wanted the shadowy criminal helplessly confined beneath the penetrating lights of the brig. 

“For Adrian,” Stamets said, steely. “And for _everything_ we’ve all lost. This ends.”

Michael shared his emphatic determination. She just wished she didn’t have the nagging sensation that instead of nearing its end, this crisis was still just getting started.


End file.
